


Madness Underneath My Skin

by jadzeanna



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Jane Austen character meets millennial, Non-Graphic Violence, Slow Burn, Spoilers through Season 3, humans don't know how vulcans work and at this point they're too afraid to ask
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:03:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 42,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22960645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadzeanna/pseuds/jadzeanna
Summary: Men still can’t take a hint in the 22nd century. Sometimes the most effective way to make them realize they don’t have a chance is to appear to already be taken. And if you happen to develop actual feelings along the way, well, Surak teaches to repress, repress, repress.
Relationships: Hoshi Sato/T'Pol
Comments: 149
Kudos: 111





	1. Obligations

**Author's Note:**

> This timeline splits from canon prior to 4x03 “Home”, but takes place several months later. Also in this universe: T’pol did not hook up with Trip. Her drug problem may have happened, but is not discussed. She wears a standard Starfleet uniform with blue shoulders. Starfleet’s fraternization policy has been significantly expanded.
> 
> Vulcan linguistic information is from the [Vulcan Language Institute](https://web.archive.org/web/20171128213352/http:/www.vli-online.org:80/vlif.htm). Note that the anglicizations here use [VLI phonetic spelling](https://web.archive.org/web/20171030142850/http://www.vli-online.org/phonetic.htm): the final stage of pon farr is _plak tau_ ; the ritual combat alternative to mating is _kali-fi_ ; and a term of endearment meaning sibling/friend/lover, perhaps soulmate, is _t’hai’la_.
> 
>  **Warning** : Later chapters have brief instances of: reference to canon torture and nonconsensual intimacy, skeletal remains, injury and first aid with blood, and dissociation. These will be indicated at the beginning of each relevant chapter. I swear this isn't a dark story (just angsty), but sometimes an away mission goes awry.
> 
> I wrote the first 5 chapters of this in early 2018, and the remainder during Femslash February 2020 as a challenge to see if I could actually finish a long-form work. Huge thanks to [girlonthelasttrain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlonthelasttrain) for beta reading, and [Feezal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feezal) for helping with plot! Y'all are some of the best friends a girl could wish for.
> 
> The title is from the song “Muscle Memory” by Lights. Minor edits made 14-16 April 2020, including rewriting the last paragraph.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> T'pol has a problem.

T’pol has been betrothed for fifty years. She has been trying to escape that engagement for forty-five.

Koss is a perfectly acceptable choice of husband. He has always followed protocol flawlessly, and treated her with the utmost respect. Marriage to him would please T’pol’s mother greatly, much as she would be loath to show it.

T’pol knows she is eccentric at best, that her fondness for the company of primitive, volatile humans is distasteful to her people. She is aware that a less tolerant mate would certainly rather undergo the _kali-fi_ and risk death than be bonded to a subpar Vulcan such as her. She could hardly blame Koss if he did so desire.

Yet, in his time of _pon farr_ , he calls to her. She is compelled by tradition and by law to answer.

T’pol knows that no logic can justify her desire to stay aboard Enterprise. Logic dictates that she is not needed on Enterprise — in fact, many members of Enterprise would prefer that she leave — while she is desperately needed on Vulcan. There should be no decision to make. If there is, her own preferences certainly should not factor into it. Logic would have her request transfer to the Kan’tehk, which is scheduled to pass within two light years of Enterprise the following day. From there, the Vulcan ship would bring her home within a week, and, if she is lucky, she may be able to enjoin with Koss before the blood fever begins to set in.

She finds the prospect of joining with Koss repulsive.

Something has always been wrong about her. Different. She does not fit the mold dictated by Surak. In the science ministry, she was considered too unpredictable to ever gain her superiors’ trust. High Command considered Earth, and later Enterprise, to be a better match for her volatile tendencies. She uniquely manages to bridge the gap between Vulcan ritual and human intuition. She is respected for this, but her superiors derisively consider her more human than Vulcan. She has sought to prove them wrong, but perhaps part of her is human after all. Perhaps that is why the promise of being a Vulcan bride sounds to her like a death sentence.

She has seen more in her years on Enterprise than most Vulcans do in a century of life. She has learned more about herself through interaction with human crewmates than in decades of meditation. It is as if a weight is lifted, that presses around her ribs every moment she spends on the homeworld. Since receiving the message, she feels that weight threaten to crush her. This human ship, floating among the stars, has become her home; now she is called to leave forever.

The door chimes, as if to remind her where she is. She opens her eyes, shuts off her computer screen, and pushes herself up from her chair. “Enter,” she says, willing her voice not to break. Her throat is dry, but she must project the air of calm superiority that her position demands.

The door slides open to reveal Commander Tucker’s familiar form.

“Is it a bad time?” he asks, rubbing the back of his neck. He finds these situations as distasteful as does T’pol, and that gives her a slight comfort from the forced intimacy.

“You couldn’t sleep.” It is not a question. “Sit down and disrobe.”

“Aren’t you going to buy me dinner first?”

Commander Tucker’s smile fades when he sees the glare T’pol fixes on him. He clears his throat, takes off his shirt, and lies face-down on her bed. She leans over him, finds the requisite pressure points with laser precision, and presses, hard, controlled enough to cause minimal pain.

She pulls back a minute later. Commander Tucker sits up, raises his eyebrows at her expectantly.

T’pol meets his eyes, her expression cold. “I need to return to my meditation. I hope you are able to sleep.”

Trip stares at her, probing something. He is concerned for her, T’pol realizes, but then he fiddles with the fabric of his shirt and the connection breaks. “I think I’m good. G’night then,” he says as he shrugs back into his shirt.

When the door slides shut behind him, T’pol lets out a breath. Since Dr. Phlox was unable to sufficiently help him sleep, her assistance with neuropressure is the next most logical solution to his insomnia, which has severely affected his performance and, accordingly, the crew’s safety. She won't let personal discomfort deter her from pursuing the most sensible course of action.

Still, her relationship with Commander Tucker — their evening sessions, at least — are not something she particularly relishes. He is respectful, careful to remain within the bounds of propriety. But she sees the way he looks at her. She senses the titillation he derives from her touch. It is human nature for a man to be attracted to a woman, particularly one with whom he shares such intimate experiences. He is not to blame, but irritation still wells up within her. First her betrothed, then her closest colleague. She wonders when men will cease to desire her.

T’pol tucks her legs underneath her on the mat, reaching out her consciousness to the flickering candle. She feels it in her mind, and is drawn in by the fire. As it is with the candle, so it is with her passions. Her thoughts are tumultuous, driven by emotion. She does not control the flame; it controls her.

Koss has always stirred up a primal revulsion deep in her gut, prompting her to leave him. It is an irrational reflex; he is a suitable mate, and it is illogical to end the relationship based solely on a feeling. No matter her own personal feelings on the matter, her duty is to her ship, to the High Council, and to society as a whole. It is the Vulcan way. Individual sacrifice fuels the greater good; without it, they would return to the violent chaos of ancient times. Desire is selfish.

At the same time, she senses Commander Tucker’s discomfort around her. He does not understand the nature of their relationship; does not know exactly how to treat her. They are treading a fine line between congeniality and courtship, one that T’pol has heretofore refused to even acknowledge. Other members of the crew certainly acknowledge it, however. She hears enough, when they think she is out of earshot, to know it is commonly believed that she is interested in the Commander as well.

The flame flickers, licks at the air, seeking something to destroy. Such is the Vulcan soul in the throes of passion. It is carnal. Destructive. The only way to keep it from laying waste is through logic. Reason. Calmness. Peace.

Gradually, the flame calms, until it burns in a small but steady wisp. T’pol’s thoughts calm with it, and a plan begins to form. It may be easier than she previously thought, to publicly clarify her boundaries with Commander Tucker and avoid her engagement with Koss at the same time, without causing significant harm to their egos or to her own standing.


	2. Human Courtship Rituals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hoshi's in on the plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T'poshi fans are the _best!_ Thank you so much for the absolutely incredible show of support!
> 
> My (completed!!!) draft is sitting at ~45k words currently, and chapters will get posted as I edit them to my satisfaction. It's gonna be a wild ride, so strap in.

Hoshi’s eyebrows shoot up. “You want me to do _what?_ ”

Hoshi is in the middle of walking back from lunch. She looks both ways, checks that they are alone.

“I didn’t mean to alarm you, ensign. I merely require someone to pose as my romantic partner for long enough to convince the crew that Commander Tucker and I are not involved.”

Hoshi lets out a shaky breath. She had believed, or hoped, that T’pol was asking her out. This is a hundred times worse. The Vulcan first officer is beautiful, in an imperious way. But she is also unavailable, and Hoshi learned long ago not to waste her feelings where they are unwanted. Her attraction for T’pol had waned as their professional relationship developed. Vulcans don’t have feelings. T’pol couldn’t actually _want_ to be with a human, let alone one so chaotic and impulsive as Hoshi.

And it isn’t like she can begrudge T’pol the desire to painlessly end uncomfortable rumors. She lost a friend once when his parents thought they were dating. His solution was to disappear from her life without a word.

On a small ship like Enterprise, ghosting someone is impossible. This is a blessing and a curse. Surely for T’pol, ghosting was never an option to begin with. Having no emotions means she would feel no remorse about letting someone down. But she and Trip are both single, and spend a lot of time alone together, late at night, so the rumor mill won't stop until one of those circumstances changes.

Hoshi can’t fault T’pol’s logic. Of course she can’t. There’s only one thing she doesn’t understand: surely a boyfriend would be more logical than a girlfriend, particularly if relationships are considered as a means of starting a family. And surely someone calmer, more rational, would give more credibility as a Vulcan’s mate.

“Why me?” Hoshi asks.

T’pol looks at her curiously. “Of the crewmen I have interacted with, you have consistently treated me with respect. If you agree to proceed, we will share a multitude of intimate situations. I trust you more than any other crew member not to do anything… untoward.”

A chill runs down Hoshi’s spine at the heavy implications in that word. Talking about personal matters to T’pol is always about reading between the lines, listening to the words unsaid. She fears other crewmen might attempt to manipulate her, blackmail her, humiliate her. Her trust sets itself on Hoshi’s shoulders like a weight. Hoshi is honored, but she isn’t sure she’s at all comforted by it.

T’pol, seemingly unaware of Hoshi’s unease, continues, “Of course, you are welcome to take advantage of the situation for your own purposes. I am aware of certain… romantic rumors you may similarly wish to dispel. It is also typical for human parents to desire their children have a more active love life than yours.”

Hoshi’s mouth falls open. “I’m not—! I don’t need—!”

T’pol raises an eyebrow.

“I mean, it can’t _hurt_ ,” Hoshi capitulates. “My parents have always worried about my love life, or lack thereof. I guess I’m in. So, we’re posing as girlfriends now?”

“That is the logical next step.”

Hoshi mulls it over. Spending time with her, deceiving the crew… It’s an oddly thrilling prospect, despite her fear. And she would rather it be her. She clasps her hands behind her back and looks T’pol in the eye.

“I don’t know how Vulcan courtship works,” Hoshi says, “but if you want anyone here to believe this, we have to do it the human way.”

“I will, of course, contact your father at the soonest available opportunity, but th—”

Hoshi brings her hands up as if to hold her back, and says, “No!” a little too loudly. She blinks, looks around, lets her hands fall. “I mean, I don’t think you need to go _that_ far.”

T’pol doesn’t waver — she never wavers. “Is that not standard human courting practice?” she replies, voice as smooth as butter.

Hoshi takes a deep breath. “Not in this millennium. By ‘the human way’ I meant everyday things like sharing meals, spending more time together, eventually moving in together. Our parents don’t even factor in until there’s a chance of marriage, and I think it’s safe to say marriage doesn’t factor into this ruse at all.”

T’pol nods crisply. “The literary precedent I used may have been outdated, given the rate of human social change.”

“You were on Earth for years. Have you never, you know, seen humans—” Hoshi waves her hand, looking for the right English word to encompass all the factors, “—dating?”

“It wasn’t customary to leave the Vulcan compound, particularly not for any sort of social events where people develop romantic relationships.”

“You’re telling me you’ve never been to,” Hoshi begins, then pauses. Even for an outsider whose love life has only marginally veered from nonexistence, romantic opportunities intertwine themselves everywhere in human society. “To _any_ social event?”

“Those of us who socialized with humans were considered backwards.”

“No wonder our peoples never got along,” Hoshi grumbles. Then she realizes something and lets out a wry laugh. “You must be really backwards now, then, on a human ship, without another Vulcan in sight.”

T’pol’s lips quirk, a gesture Hoshi has come to recognize as her restrained impression of a human smile. She looks down at Hoshi’s hands and watches her fuss with her fingernails for a moment before replying, “I’ve found that it isn’t so bad to live among your kind.”

Hoshi smiles mischievously, runs her eyes down and back up the lines of T’pol’s slim figure before settling on her eyes. She feels like she’s crossing a line, being too bold, but she’ll have to get used to flirting with her superior officer if she has any hope of pulling this off. “I should get back to work, but could you meet me for dinner tonight when we get off shift? The mess hall isn’t much for a first date, but we don’t have many options out here.”

“Very well, ensign.”

“We’re dating now, right? Call me Hoshi.”

“Very well,” T’pol breathes before consciously enunciating, “Hoshi.”

At that, T’pol turns and walks down the hallway, headed to some task in a different part of the ship.

Hoshi’s heart is racing, and she has to carefully control her breath as she returns to her station, but she finds herself humming as she works. Sure, their romance would be fake, but Hoshi wouldn’t think of missing a chance to get to know her ever-distant first officer more closely.

* * *

They’re both on standard day shift, so T’pol intercepts Hoshi as the first night shift takes over. She holds her hand out as they wait for the turbolift.

Hoshi stares at it, confused.

“Is it not standard for romantically engaged humans to hold hands?”

“It is, but you’re not human. Isn’t that a bit… intimate?”

“I wouldn’t offer if I were uncomfortable.”

Hoshi ignores the unease in her stomach and takes T’pol’s outstretched hand. She doesn’t bring it up again, but, perhaps because of the cultural significance, she finds herself aware of how smooth the skin of T’pol’s hand is despite the dry, artificially filtered air. She is aware of the firmness of T’pol’s grip as she tugs a fazed Hoshi into the lift. The doors slip gracefully shut behind them, and T’pol calls for D deck in the same even voice as always. Hoshi wonders how long it’s been since T’pol locked fingers with a lover, and what it means that she’s treating the gesture so lightly, as humans do.

T’pol doesn’t let go of Hoshi’s hand until they’re at the mess hall, serving themselves potato cubes and sautéed vegetables. Hoshi helps herself to a piece of resequenced chicken, and they head to a table.

T’pol pulls out a chair but doesn’t sit in it; it takes Hoshi a moment to realize it’s meant for her. Hoshi mumbles a quick, “thanks,” as she sits down.

They eat in silence. Hoshi isn’t sure what to say, and T’pol doesn’t seem eager to say much of anything.

Hoshi nudges a piece of potato with her fork. “So, did you have anything interesting happen today?”

T’pol puts her fork down and looks up from her plate. “You were present for every occurrence outside of our normal routine.”

Hoshi sighs and pops a carrot into her mouth to chew while she regroups. After a moment, she asks, “Are you looking forward to seeing that tidal disruption tomorrow?”

“We’re extremely unlikely to make any significant discoveries,” T’pol says, as if that is a counterargument.

“I bet the swirling stellar matter is beautiful enough to be worth it just for the view. It’s not every day we get to see how stars die.”

“An aesthetic consideration with minimal practical merit,” T’pol says. She almost seems ruffled.

Hoshi has no wish to offend her superior officer and friend, but a little teasing is harmless, and the view of the vortex really would make for as perfect a date as they’d get without shore leave.

“Minimal _scientific_ merit, perhaps. But that doesn’t matter. We should watch it just because it’s beautiful.”

“I’m afraid that is a human failing.”

“I’ve read Vulcan poetry. You value beauty as much as we do.”

“Perhaps. But beauty in Vulcan art is derived from the elegance and logical formation of ideas, whereas human art merely aims to maximize flamboyance.”

“What? Art and beauty are about so much more than just flamboyance. Everything in nature is the logical result of physical laws, so this should be beautiful by both our standards.” Hoshi stabs a bite of chicken, then puts it down and says, “Besides, it’s _romantic_. We still have to establish that we’re involved, don’t we?”

“I don’t see why there’s a need to establish anything.”

Hoshi leans in and lowers her voice to ensure it won’t carry in the mess hall. “Our relationship won’t be convincing if we don’t. On a ship this small, everyone knows everyone’s business, and they won’t believe us if we just announce we’re together without letting people suspect it first. There’ll be a deck set up for viewing the vortex. It’s a perfect opportunity.”

T’pol tilts her head almost imperceptibly. “If you insist.”

“You won’t regret it, I promise,” Hoshi says with a smile before biting down on a piece of chicken.

She continues eating, but the air feels _weird_ between them, and her stomach doesn’t quite want to cooperate. Their working relationship was comfortable, but now Hoshi doesn’t know how to act. She’s certain she just crossed some line, but can’t imagine where that line is. Maybe it would be better if they just say they’re a couple and keep living their lives as if nothing changed. Maybe Hoshi’s pushing for too much realism in their arrangement, when she ought to make it as painless as possible for both of them. Maybe she needs to stop trying to make this something, and just accept that it’s not anything at all.

But it is something, regardless of her intent. And she does care for T’pol, and does want her to be comfortable with her crewmates. If they’re together, T’pol will have an airtight excuse when men on the crew pursue her. The idea is that Hoshi will also have an airtight excuse the next time someone tries to set her up with Malcolm or Travis, or the next time her mother asks why she’s still single. Hoshi doesn’t feel the need for an excuse; it doesn’t bother her that people want to see her happy, but clearly it bothers T’pol a lot, for her to resort to this.

After a few minutes, T’pol pushes her chair back and stands up. Hoshi looks up at her, realizes she has been picking at a piece of chicken for several minutes and T’pol is finished eating. She shoves the chicken into her mouth and mumbles, “Hold on, I’m almost done.”

T’pol sits back down, folds her hands, and stares at Hoshi expectantly.

Hoshi finishes chewing the piece of chicken and swallows. “I’ll just be a minute; let’s leave together.” She shoves a piece of potato into her mouth to punctuate the sentence, doesn’t chew enough, and coughs slightly as she swallows it.

“There isn’t any hurry, Hoshi. Take your time.”

Hoshi can't help smiling her thanks.

When Hoshi finishes, T’pol holds her hand and doesn’t let go until they’re standing outside Hoshi’s door. Hoshi is worried it will be awkward, but T’pol just nods her head, says, “Good night, Hoshi,” and walks away down the corridor, leaving Hoshi to stare after her and wonder why she feels exhilarated and rather disappointed.


	3. The Impenetrable Vulcan Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People expect them to be something they’re not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has some secondhand embarrassment (which is thankfully not a recurring plot device in this story).

Hoshi lies awake for hours, thinking and rethinking her situation with T’pol. She isn’t sure she can do it. She’s never had a proper relationship before, and as far as she can tell, neither has T’pol. Add that it’s about putting on a show, convincing their crewmates they’re in love when they’re actually not even friends, and Hoshi could just about scream. It had seemed like such a good idea when T’pol suggested it — but Vulcan logic always has a way of making human trepidation seem irrelevant.

The alarm is unwelcome when it blares, cutting through her hard-earned slumber. Hoshi hits snooze without thinking, desperate for just another minute's rest. When she finally drags herself out of bed, she’s running late to target practice with Malcolm, still imagining every possible way the tidal disruption party could go wrong. No time for breakfast — all she gets are butterflies.

As she walks into the armory, Malcolm smiles at her, hands her a phase pistol, and asks, “think you can get ten out of fifteen shots on the level eight target?” Hoshi only needs to beat level four to renew her away mission clearance, but Malcolm likes to know the limits of every member of the crew.

He doesn’t comment that she’s late, despite his penchant for punctuality. It’s one of the reasons they get along so well.

Hoshi points the phase pistol, carefully aiming at the target. It’s moving in a regular pattern; it should be predictable. But when she pulls the trigger, her hand shakes, and the shot hits the wall, leaving the target unscathed. A second shot glances off the target without registering a full hit. A third misses again. Hoshi can feel her arms shake. Her jaw clenches and eyes narrow. She just needs to get off one shot, out of four, five — but can’t seem to strike the target.

Malcolm sighs, holds out his hand. Hoshi presses the phase pistol into it. He sets the gun on a nearby table and faces her. She takes a deep breath, waiting.

“What’s the matter, Hoshi? Your aim’s usually better than this.”

“Sorry. I couldn’t sleep last night.”

Malcolm crosses his arms. “Funny. There’s been no turbulence, no alien contact — what’s on your mind?”

“Nothing important. It’s kind of… personal.” Malcolm raises his eyebrows, waits for her to continue. “Have you ever had feelings for another crew member?”

Malcolm is a deer caught in headlights for a brief moment. Yes, he has. Still does have feelings, if she had to guess.

Hoshi tries to find the words to explain without giving it away. “Well, there’s someone here, who I didn’t think I had a chance with in a million years, but now I’m seeing them in a different light, and,” her voice drops to a whisper, “I don’t know what to do.”

Malcolm lets out a long breath, and his eyes drift out of focus, just over her shoulder. “I know the feeling,” he mumbles.

“With your mystery someone?” Hoshi smiles mischievously. “Maybe I’ll figure out who it is one of these days.”

Malcolm looks at Hoshi in horror.

She puts up her hands in defeat, but her smile widens. “All right, all right, I won’t pry. Whatever the deal is, whoever they are, I hope things work out.”

“Thanks,” Malcolm says wryly.

Hoshi waits a long moment before she realizes he’s not going to pry any further on his own. “I’m sure you can guess who _I’m_ thinking about.” She raises her eyebrows, daring him, but her heart seems to have lodged itself into her throat.

“Aw, Hoshi, don’t tell me you were worried about _this_.”

“You?” She laughs, because it’s so hilariously wrong, but the sound comes out breathless and nervous. “I mean, I was looking forward to spending time with you, and yeah, I’m always a little nervous about tests, but…”

Malcolm stands a little straighter as he steps back, brow furrowing. “Hoshi, I really don’t think it’s appropriate.”

“Sorry. You’re just one of the best friends I have on this ship, and I thought I could talk to you. Let’s just get back to—” She waves her hand in the vicinity of the targets. “I’ll keep my relationship troubles to myself.” It was the first time she’d called it a relationship to anyone else, and Hoshi felt the force of the lie in her chest and her ears.

Malcolm lets out a loud breath. “Oh! I thought we were, that is, I thought you were talking about _us_.”

“No! I mean, you’re a wonderful guy, don’t get me wrong, but I’m not remotely interested in being anything more than friends.”

“Good. You’re the closest thing I have to a friend here too — well, you and Commander Tucker — and I’d really rather keep it that way.”

“I’d like that too.” Hoshi absolutely beams at him. “I’m sorry I came in here such a wreck, I just, well, talked to the person I like yesterday, and we kind of have a date tonight.” She’s uncomfortable referring to T’pol as her crush, if simply because it isn’t true — T’pol is just a gorgeous coworker who needs her help to dispel rumors — but she’ll have to get used to it.

“Congratulations. Who exactly is the lucky gentleman?”

“I’d… rather not say, actually. Everyone will know soon enough, anyway, if it goes well.”

“Do you think it won’t?”

“I keep thinking about my high school prom, which was… a disaster, to put it lightly. I couldn’t speak to my date for a week afterward. If I screw this up, it’s harder to avoid someone on a ship with only eighty people than in a school with eight hundred.”

“110, actually, since we added the MACO complement.”

“Right,” Hoshi says flatly.

“You were up all night overthinking, weren’t you?”

Hoshi smiles sadly. “Guilty as charged.”

Malcolm claps a hand on her shoulder. “We’re both going to end up dying alone, aren’t we?”

She wrinkles her nose at him. “I don’t think I’d go that far.”

“Prove me wrong, then. He’ll love you if you just be yourself. He’d be crazy not to.”

Hoshi doesn’t bother to correct his pronoun use. Let him assume. “Thanks, Malcolm. I feel a lot better, really.”

“We’re on duty, ensign. That’s Lieutenant Malcolm to you.” He tries to keep a stern face, but he meets her eyes and they both can’t resist grinning.

“Yes, _sir_ ,” Hoshi replies.

Once again, Malcolm hands her the pistol and asks, “So, let’s go back down to level 4. Do you think you can make ten out of fifteen?”

* * *

T’pol carves intently at a slice of eggplant. Once the tough disc is cut into bite size cubes, she puts her fork and knife down without taking a bite. That’s enough to draw the captain’s attention — he is always tuned in to her.

“Is something the matter, T’pol?”

Trip looks back and forth between the two of them, having been too focused on his food to notice what prompted the question.

T’pol takes a deep breath. “I’ve been recalled to Vulcan, possibly permanently.”

Archer’s eyebrow shifts subtly, not quite forming a frown. “Has the high command said why?”

“This has nothing to do with the high command. It is of a personal nature.”

“You can’t just leave,” Trip chimes in. “You’re the best first officer in the fleet. Enterprise would be lost without you!”

“I am pleased that you think so highly of me, but this is not my decision.” T’pol lets her gaze fall to the untouched eggplant, now in cubes on the plate in front of her.

Trip blanches. “Family?”

“In a sense.”

“Are you gonna tell us why?”

If he knew, he would wish he hadn’t asked. Humans have made it abundantly clear that they do not wish to understand.

“I just thought you should know before I put in my formal request to divert course. I understand our next mission with the Senkari is both urgent and diplomatically critical.”

Archer puzzles over that. “Do you want to transfer to a homebound Vulcan ship before then?”

“That is the obvious choice. The Kan’tehk will be passing within a half light year of our course tomorrow, and it would take only a slight diversion to bring Enterprise within transporter range. However, I’m sure you could find a more critical need for me on the Senkari mission.”

“It’s alright, you can go deal with your family issues,” Trip says. “We’ll get by fine without you.”

T’pol’s eyes flash with a hint of irritation at his flippancy. “This is a serious matter.”

Trip’s hands shoot up in defense. “I never said it wasn’t.”

She lets him have it, to prevent an argument, and continues, “The Senkari mission is of crucial diplomatic value, and my presence as first officer will serve as the best possible evidence to them of your society’s inclusion of alien races. I don’t think it’s wise for you to attempt the mission without me.”

Jon frowns at first, but then smiles widely as she continues to make her point. “I’m glad you’d like to stay on Enterprise, but then, why tell us you’re going to Vulcan?”

T’pol does not sigh, or roll her eyes. She merely looks Archer in the eye and says, “I have been recalled. It is my duty to return, _contingent_ on my commanding officer’s approval.”

Trip puts down his fork with a _clink_ , and both sets of eyes turn to him. “Why, T’pol, it sounds like you’re asking for an excuse to stay with us.” The look on his face is pure mischievous glee.

T’pol stares at him impassively. “I would hardly call it an excuse, Commander.”

Archer looks at Trip as he says, “I’ll see what I can do.”

“So,” Trip says, “You gonna tell us what’s keeping you here?”

“As I said, it will serve as evidence of Earth’s inclusivity if the non-human members of the staff are present. The Senkari government has been vocally suspicious of alien visitors, claiming it is their intent to subjugate Senkari culture.”

“You won’t even be on the away mission.”

“That is not the point.”

“No, it’s not. I think your real reason is something else entirely. I think,” Trip says, leaning in towards her and letting his voice drop, “you’re attached to this ship, or rather, to the people on it…”

T’pol’s gaze goes from cool to icy. “While my recall to Vulcan is a personal matter, my reasons for believing I am needed on Enterprise are purely professional.”

Trip turns to Archer and says, “I dunno, sounds a little defensive to me.”

Jon grins at him. “Fraternization with human crew members. That’s a serious charge.”

“It was only a matter of time, if you ask me.”

“What’s not to love about us humans, right?”

T’pol is accustomed to these remarks. She has come to understand they are how humans show affection. By now she knows not to let them bother her.

But then Tucker smiles softly at her and says, “the sort of time we’ve been spending together, I’m not surprised,” and T’pol has to temper the heat threatening to rise from her chest. Humiliation mixed with anger. Nothing she hasn’t dealt with before, but this time the comment stings much worse. Perhaps her emotional control has faltered. Perhaps she really is becoming more human. Or, perhaps she let Commander Tucker in too close to begin with.

“Now that she’s becoming more human, I guess I’ll have to be more Vulcan, to keep the bridge from descending into chaos. Now’s the time to read that copy of _Surak for Dummies_ that Ambassador Soval gave me.”

T’pol takes this chance to defend herself, but the words sound hollow, even to her. “The teachings of Surak are advanced material. I would suggest you start with a simpler issue, like learning to think before you speak.”

Before anyone can accuse her of an emotional display, T’pol has left. She heads straight to her quarters and meditates. The flame flickers violently.


	4. Watching Stars Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things come naturally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here begins the saga of making shit up about Vulcan culture because I don’t feel like annotating novels about Spock.
> 
> Also, look up tidal disruptions, forreal, they're so pretty and cool.

T’pol is still fruitlessly attempting to calm her thoughts when she hears her door chime. Perhaps it is because she is uniquely vulnerable during the early, uncontrolled stage of meditation that she responds with overt irritation to the doorbell, almost growling “who is it?” without stopping to think.

A soft voice from the other side calls out, “You’re ten minutes late for our date,” and T’pol feels monumentally foolish.

She takes a deep breath, attempting to keep her emotions contained even as they are already uncontrolled, and stands up. Her first step is unsteady, but she has regained her stable demeanor when she reaches the door. Hoshi steps inside, and T’pol hastily says, “I apologize, ensign—Hoshi. My meditation took longer than usual; it has been a particularly unnerving day.”

Hoshi grins. T’pol is briefly concerned and offended that she, too, is refusing to take her seriously. Then Hoshi says, “I know what you mean. I haven’t had the slightest clue what to do with myself all day,” and her eyes are understanding, even as they sparkle.

T’pol is so relieved that she feels light, almost cheerful as she holds her arm out and says, “Shall we?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Hoshi replies. She takes T’pol’s hand, letting their fingers intertwine. T’pol retracts her earlier self-evaluation. She certainly is becoming more human. This nearly obscene gesture fails to demand her withdrawal. Regardless of what it signifies to humans, T’pol finds herself eminently unbothered by its Vulcan significance. That, too, might disturb her, if only Hoshi’s hand weren’t so enticingly warm.

Hoshi marvels at the ease of their interaction. She can hear her heart thumping in her ears, and surely T’pol can hear it too, yet there they are, walking to the observation deck, hand in hand like lovers. So far, it’s painless enough. Perhaps she really will be able to keep up the farce long enough to smooth the trajectories of both their lives.

They’re going to Earth after this next mission, for “winter holidays”, which Enterprise never misses. For most of the crew, that means Christmas. For the Sato family, that means the new year. Which means sending cards to distant relatives, and spending time with her siblings and parents, and playing with her niece and nephew. Then her parents always ask, since she’s so good with kids, why isn’t she having any of her own? And they insist her career isn’t sufficient reason, so instead it’s just ‘I haven’t found the right person’, which of course leads to her parents trying to set her up with someone, which is sweet, but it’s exhausting. She needs T’pol to help her deflect those questions, in the same way T’pol needs her.

Hoshi is certain T’pol will be doing the same; she is under the impression most Vulcans marry earlier in their careers. T’pol hasn’t said anything about it, but Vulcans never do, and Hoshi’s always been keen at reading between the lines. She wonders what T’pol’s reason is for wishing to stay single. It’s unfortunate that question will forever go unasked and unanswered.

There’s a lot more for Hoshi to learn about T’pol, though — things that aren’t on her record. That’s the real reason Hoshi agreed to this scheme; it’s a lot of hassle if all she gets out of it is one slightly easier day a year, but the insight into T’pol’s life is far, far too tempting to pass up.

* * *

Before either is quite ready, they arrive at the door to the temporary observation lounge. T’pol turns to finds Hoshi watching her, questioning. There are people on the other side, people who’ll realize they’re on a date. Perhaps the tension in the air is T’pol’s concern, or Hoshi’s nerves. Perhaps it is merely anticipation.

T’pol presses the panel. She is ready to walk slowly into the room, but Hoshi’s eyes widen and a magnificent smile crosses her face. A moment later, she is making a beeline for the window, dragging T’pol by their still-intertwined hands, forcing the taller woman to stride as fast as she can gracefully manage.

They stop in front of the appropriately tinted window, close enough that, given the curvature of G deck, they can almost not see the ship at all, as if they are floating among the stellar deathbed below. A red-orange star is the star of the show, its stellar matter pulled into an enormous spiral by the gravitational pull of the black hole that it orbits. The resulting impression is distinctly majestic and brutal, as if the Milky Way were set on fire.

T'pol feels something stir in her chest, and forces it out of mind. The view is spectacular, as much as any astronomical phenomenon. It is a simple extension of the laws of physics, an event which has been documented a countless number of times before. She has seen sufficient images in astronomy textbooks to know how it looks. It does not matter that Captain Archer holds a strange fascination with stellar phenomena, and it does not matter that Hoshi’s romantic sensibilities insist it is an appropriate venue for a date. It does not matter that it makes T’pol feel unsettled and small. It can be logically explained, and the rest is human sentimentality. It does not matter.

T’pol feels Hoshi’s shoulder press against hers, and is shocked to realize she had forgotten the pretense of their date. She rests her arm against Hoshi’s waist. Then, in an illogical impulse — perhaps motivated by the emptiness ahead, or perhaps merely by social protocol — she tightens her grip and pulls Hoshi’s body close against hers.

In the transparent aluminum of the window she can see their reflections, standing side by side, facing away from the room, away from each other, into the abyss. She can see the reflection of Hoshi’s face, her mouth falling slightly open, her eyes blinking rapidly, her cheeks and ears tinged with red. She can feel heat radiate off Hoshi’s body, her breathing becoming subtly shakier and shallower. Hoshi is surprised, perhaps. Nervous, possibly. It is fortunate that this does not induce any emotional reaction in T’pol at all.

Hoshi takes a moment to process what’s happening. She’d only expected to stand together and make eyes at each other. This is more physical closeness than she’s had in ages. T’pol is not as hot-blooded as she is, nor her body as soft, but her grip is comfortingly firm, and Hoshi takes refuge in it.

After a few minutes, during which Hoshi becomes increasingly self-conscious, a familiar voice calls “Hoshi! Commander!”

Hoshi turns around to greet Phlox, and T’pol turns with her, switching so her other arm is on Hoshi’s waist.

The renewed contact makes Hoshi’s head swim. She wants to sit down, and maybe get far away from T’pol before she does something she’ll regret, but instead she affects a smile and says the traditional Denobulan greeting for semi-formal evening parties.

“Good evening to you too, Hoshi. Commander.” He pauses to smile at something only he knows. “Enjoying the view?”

“It’s a predictable stellar phenomenon,” T’pol replies curtly.

Phlox frowns. “Yes, I admit I’m here for the social gathering rather than the tidal disruption, myself. Don’t you think it’s fascinating to see how people react to it? Not to mention the types of,” he leans in, voice softer, “ _interpersonal_ reactions people have at a time like this.”

T’pol’s grip tightens on Hoshi’s waist.

“T’pol,” Hoshi whispers, leaning in close, “could you get me a drink?”

“Which kind?”

“The blackberry fizz would be lovely.”

T’pol nods briefly, then turns to Phlox. “I’ll be right back.”

“What was that for?” Hoshi hisses as soon as T’pol is out of earshot.

Phlox’s eyes widen as he frowns. “Did I miss something? Is she all right?”

“I’m pretty sure she thought you were making a comment about us. Weren’t you?”

“Well, I… partially. But Ensigns Walsh and McFarlane were having a much more interesting disagreement just a few minutes earlier. I just thought I might remind you about the prerequisite inoculations for interspecies sexual contact.”

Hoshi coughs. “I don’t think that’s an issue.” She doesn’t think it’ll ever be.

“Oh, relationships are full of surprises. Besides, some benign Vulcan microbiota can be nasty. The Kavoran flu, for instance, is latent in many Vulcans, but causes pneumonia in nearly one in five humans it affects. You can exchange a lot of diseases just from kissing, or sharing food. It’s really much better to be careful, hmm?”

It’s just a few vaccines, and Hoshi can’t talk her way out of it without telling Phlox they’re not really dating, so she capitulates. “Alright, alright. Doesn’t T’pol need the same shots?”

“No, she’s already protected from most human diseases. She’s lived on Earth much longer than you’ve ever lived among Vulcans.”

“Oh.” That doesn’t seem fair, somehow.

“Why don’t you stop by tomorrow, after dinner? I can get you the inoculations you need, and my Betelgeusean iguana misses you.”

“I can come for a few minutes, but the day after tomorrow is an early morning.” Hoshi leans in. “Does the iguana really miss me, or is she acting up again?”

“You’re the only one she listens to.”

“I told you, you just need to communicate on _her_ terms.”

“She’s an iguana. I’m communicating the only way I can.”

T’pol silently steps in next to Hoshi, handing her a purple drink with her left hand while slipping her right hand again around Hoshi’s waist. She’s surprised by the touch, and the drink sloshes but doesn’t spill. Phlox nods at them and turns away to mingle with another group.

“We were talking about Phlox’s iguana,” Hoshi fills T’pol in.

Somewhere in the crowd, at the edge of hearing, a woman’s voice remarks, “did you hear that? I’d like to discuss Phlox’s _iguana_.”

T’pol looks at Hoshi for a long moment.

“Reptiles are not capable of even Porthos’ level of cognition,” T’pol eventually replies. “It is unreasonable to expect one to communicate.”

“Not all reptiles,” Hoshi replies, briefly recalling their encounters with the Xindi, then cutting that thought off before it gets too far.

“No. Just Earth, Vulcan, and certainly Betelgeusean ones.”

“There are other forms of communication, you know,” Hoshi says.

For the next hour, they chat with each other and mingle with other crewmen. Hoshi sips cocktails, and T’pol’s arm never leaves her date’s waist.

* * *

“I wonder what’s next,” Hoshi says once the door closes, her eyes sparkling as T’pol calls the lift.

“Next, we plan our next date and return to our quarters,” T’pol says, her voice lower than usual.

“Hmm…” Hoshi leans into T’pol. She is warm against her side. “Then after that, I bet we move in together and think about marriage.”

T’pol looks at her, and does indeed think about marriage. She is still uncertain whether she will be allowed to annul her own impending nuptials. Her request to remain on Enterprise will only buy her time, which she has counted on using to establish her relationship with Hoshi.

Koss is disciplined and has access to the best medical and psychological care; time is something he will have better than most. But when the Senkari mission is over, Enterprise will be returning home for maintenance and shore leave. If Koss has entered the _plak tau,_ she will have no alternative but to undergo the rite of _kali-fi_. She does not wish to fight Koss, nor to kill him; he is a good man. It is only the nature of their entanglement that she despises.

If she is particularly fortunate — and that is a large ‘if’ — she won’t need to. If Koss’ condition does not degenerate into _plak tau_ before she arrives, and if she is able to convince a council of elders that her union with Hoshi is logically superior to her bond with Koss, they may yet find him an alternative bride who he can bond with while he is still sane, or even heal his condition altogether.

The outcome of her life, then, hinges on her ability to prove that her engagement with Hoshi is serious enough to lead to marriage.

“Hoshi,” T’pol whispers softly as they approach Hoshi’s quarters. “Are you seriously willing to live together?”

It would indeed lend a great deal of credibility to their relationship, perhaps enough to tip the scales in her favor.

Hoshi taps the code on her door, then spins around and drapes her arms over T’pol’s shoulders. “Do you snore?”

“No,” T’pol replies.

“Then I don’t see why not.”

Hoshi steps backward through her door, and T’pol removes Hoshi’s arms from around her neck.

“I’ll look into it, then. Good night.”

“Good night,” Hoshi says with a smile.

The door slides shut, and T’pol thinks about living with a human. And not just any human — Hoshi Sato.


	5. Misunderstanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> T'pol moves quickly.

T’pol knocks briskly, three times, at Archer’s door. A bark comes from the other side, and Archer scolds, “Porthos! No barking,” as he lets her in.

“Why didn’t you ring the chime?” Archer asks as T’pol steps into the room.

“I did,” T’pol says.

“Huh. I’ll have Trip take a look at it.”

“I assume you have news for me.”

“I was thinking about your request to return to Vulcan, and I agree with your judgment. I need my first officer here while we negotiate with the Senkari.”

T’pol nods. “A logical choice.” Her desire for that outcome was motivated by anything but logic.

“I’ve informed the Kan’tehk we will not be making the rendezvous. We’re returning to Earth for the winter holidays after this mission. You’ll be able to visit Vulcan then and take care of your personal affairs.”

“Thank you, captain.”

“Don’t mention it. If that’s all…”

T’pol clasps her hands behind her back. “There’s something I’d like to ask for, while I’m here. Ensign Sato has requested to move into my quarters.”

“You’re a commissioned officer. You don’t have to do that.”

T’pol feels her back stiffen. “Do what?”

“At ease. You don’t have to give her your quarters just because she wants them.”

“That is not my intention. She plans to move into my current quarters with me.”

“Shared quarters are only required for enlisted crewmen. You should know that.”

“I’d like to be with Ensign Sato, so she isn’t alone when she has her recurring nightmares.”

“That hasn’t been an issue with Trip, has it? It’s noble of you to help her with them, but you already live just down the hall; you can get to her quickly enough when necessary.”

T’pol steels herself. “Ensign Sato and I are together. I am requesting shared quarters.”

“T’pol,” Archer sighs, “you can’t just get shared quarters because you want to help her out.”

T’pol suppresses her annoyance. If Archer wishes to be stubborn, she will have to leave no room for further misunderstanding. “We are a couple. We’re romantically involved.” Archer’s eyes widen. “She and I are technically engaged under classical Vulcan tradition, though not under modern Vulcan law. I am requesting shared quarters so that we can both have unqualified biometric access. This is permitted by section 22, subsection B-three-alpha of the United Earth Starfleet Code.”

Archer’s jaw drops, and for a long, blessed moment, he is speechless.

“Do I owe congratulations? I didn’t know Vulcans had relationships outside of marriage.”

“We don’t. We also do not live full time with humans.”

“Do you love her? I can’t have you breaking my comm officer’s heart light years from home.”

“The details of our relationship are not your concern. But she is stronger than you have been led to believe. Her heart is not at risk.”

Archer sighs and taps a button on his console. “I’ll send you both a copy of the appropriate form. If you get the paperwork in tonight, she should be able to move in the day after tomorrow. We can’t change the furnishings, though; you’ll be fitted with a double bed when we dock at Mars for maintenance next week.”

“That won’t be a problem.”

“Didn’t think so. Good luck.”

T’pol had expected the process to be more difficult. It is uncharacteristic for Archer to be this cooperative. Perhaps she is missing some crucial piece of information. Perhaps she still has much to learn about humanity.

* * *

Hoshi has eaten half her food alone and is considering joining a group of other crewmen when T’pol slides into the seat across from her. They eat in silence for a moment before the Vulcan leans in toward her, one arm on the table in an affected human gesture of relaxation.

“The captain approved our request for shared quarters,” T’pol murmurs.

“Our request?” Hoshi pokes at a flake of fish. “I didn’t think you meant moving in together _now_.”

“There is no logical reason to wait.”

Hoshi puts down her fork, careful to keep it quiet, and folds her hands together under the table. “I wasn’t…” She leans in and drops her voice to a whisper. “We’ve been a couple for _three days_.”

“You’ve previously requested my assistance in managing your nightmares, and moving our relationship forward would imply we’ve already been together in secret for a period of time.”

Hoshi frowns at her fish. “It’s still very sudden.”

“If you would like to remain as we are, I can tell the captain that we had a minor disagreement and decided not to live together.”

“No,” Hoshi sighs. Maybe T’pol just wants to get it over with. Hoshi can’t blame her. “I’ll move in with you.”

And if they move in together, she’ll have a front row seat to see T’pol’s life as she actually lives it.

“You’ll need to fill out the paperwork, and we will be able to move in together the day after tomorrow.”

“Do you have it with you now?”

“No,” T’pol replies, “I thought we might discuss it in my quarters. We have a lot to talk about.”

Hoshi cringes. “I’m sorry, I promised Phlox I’d visit and, ah, help housetrain his new Betelgeusean iguana, then I have to get to bed early before the Senkari mission. If you send me the paperwork, I can sign and submit it before I go to bed, but I really don’t have time to talk tonight.”

“Captain Archer already sent it to your terminal.”

“Great. I’ll get to it tonight, and we can talk when I get back from Vegea.”

“It isn’t urgent.”

“I have a few things I want to talk to you about also. Tomorrow.”

Hoshi gets up, carries her half uneaten food to the compost bin. She can’t eat like this, not with something that looks an awful lot like domesticity and a future staring her in the eye. Maybe she should have said no, that she wasn’t ready; she knows T’pol would let her go if she only asked. Their relationship is moving too fast for her liking, and she isn’t sure how she’ll handle it, but she told herself she would use the opportunity for what it’s worth, and she intends to follow through.

Hoshi glances at T’pol, but doesn’t say goodbye as she rushes out the door and heads toward sickbay. She did promise Phlox a visit, and his iguana really is adorable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're binge reading this, here's a good point to get up, stretch your legs, drink some water, maybe go to sleep if it's 3am and you're gonna regret staying up so late the next day. <3


	6. Deep Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Politics are always a matter of perspective.

Hoshi has always believed that the nature of a people is reflected in their language. The Senkari language is coarse and honest, but with a detailed system of honorifics that indicate a high degree of civility. Their civilization is entirely underwater, and their people have long since evolved gills, but they only speak when they are breathing air. Hoshi feels an inkling of homesickness. She’s looking forward to seeing her family when the mission is over.

By the time Hoshi, Malcolm, and Archer depart the ship for the Senkari homeworld of Vegea, Hoshi has renewed her security clearance, learned a passable amount of the Senkari language, downloaded the remainder into a padd, and, with T’pol’s assistance, boosted their communicators to transmit through nearly two kilometers of water.

The away team’s agenda is clear: they are to meet with the prime minister for approximately fifteen minutes, then to discuss trade relations with the foreign affairs council for an hour, then a private dinner with an assortment of senators, then a tour of the capital city.

Hoshi’s job is to clarify any misunderstandings, as the universal translator cannot translate honorifics that are absent in the source language. But she feels unnecessary, as the prime minister is willing to take their lack of appropriate speech in stride.

So her mind begins to wander as they walk into the foreign affairs council chamber. Someone clears his throat; she panics and recites the standard formal greeting, then, quickly, beseechingly, she explains that her captain’s translator cannot capture formalities and so to please forgive him. It’s fortunate the translator provides an excuse; formalities will probably never be Captain Archer’s forte.

* * *

Despite her insistence on being present for negotiations, T’pol remains on the bridge to command Enterprise. She tracks the away team’s shuttle as it descends, their biosigns eventually disappearing under the water. Hoshi calls in and confirms that they are safe and their communications are working. The signal is fuzzy, and her consonants sound blurry, but she is legible.

When the channel closes, Travis swings around in his seat and looks at T’pol, eyes sparkling.

“Ensign Mayweather, is there a problem?”

“No, everything’s in order. I just hoped I could ask you a question.”

T’pol stiffens, but still says, “What is it?”

Travis glances to the comm officer’s spot, where an ensign is monitoring the controls and pretending not to hear their conversation. “I heard you and Hoshi went to see the tidal disruption together. I’ve got to know, what’s going on between you two? Hoshi and I usually get dinner together, but the past few days she’s always been with you.”

T’pol stares at him for a long moment, then seems to fix her expression in place as she replies, “That is a personal question. I am at liberty to spend my free time with whoever I choose.”

“You are, but it’s obvious there’s something special going on. I was just wondering if you’ll answer what we’ve all been thinking. What are you to each other?”

“From my understanding, human relationships place a great deal of significance on the choice of words.” The turbolift doors audibly slide open. “Ensign Sato and I have not yet decided which word to use, therefore any declaration would be premature.”

“Is this about T’pol’s relationship with Hoshi?” Trip asks as he exits the turbolift.

T’pol fixes her gaze on him, lifts her chin a little higher than she normally would. Travis’ eyes take on a certain glint, and he just smiles conspiratorially.

“They’re apparently pretty serious. They’re moving in together tomorrow.” Trip sounds incredulous, possibly sarcastic.

“You’re kidding,” Travis replies, his grin widening. “Congratulations, Commander! I’ll have to come up with a good housewarming gift.”

Trip rolls his eyes. “It sure is a surprise.”

T’pol sits a little straighter. “Is that all?”

“Just needed you to check these updates on your new, ah, _living situation_ ,” Trip replies, holding her a datapad.

T’pol taps a series of buttons at the bottom of the pad and nods to Trip. She is relieved when the turbolift doors slide shut behind him.

Travis turns back around to check his console and flinches. “Commander, there’s a ship heading toward us, due to intercept in one minute.”

“Readings?”

“It appears to be a Senkari vessel.”

“Open a channel.”

“Message?” says the comm officer.

“Why are you converging on our location? We are friends of the Senkari, here on legitimate business.”

“No response.”

“Open a channel to the away team.”

“Channel open.”

“There is a vessel on an intercept course with Enterprise; they aren’t—”

“Commander, they’re jamming us. The message isn’t getting through.”

“Can you boost the signal to reach the surface?”

“I’ll try, but I need a minute.”

Several long seconds pass as the crewman works, and the Senkari vessel comes closer. It is well within weapons range when it turns to face them and fires its main phaser cannon, directly on Enterprise’s unpolarized hull.

* * *

When the sound comes, it is barely noticeable.

Archer is discussing a trade of human technology for Senkari textiles, and Hoshi hears a staticky blip from her sleeve pocket. Surely her communicator auto-activated itself again. She makes a note to debug the newest set of translation protocols when she returns to Enterprise.

When the textile deal has been secured, one of the councilors brings up the matter of weapons. Hoshi again hears the same crackling sound, except this time she can almost make out a hint of a voice—

The councilor insists that the Senkari state is attempting to suppress a particularly violent group of xenophobic terrorists, which has resulted in greatly decreased weapon exports—

It sounds like T’pol’s voice, saying things like _open fire_ and _casualties_ , but it is so quiet and drowned in static that she can’t make it out, and isn’t sure if she imagined it altogether.

It is not Hoshi’s place to speak up; she is officially only an observer, and has reason to believe it would be a major offense to Senkari custom if she interrupted a meeting. She is certain it would be an offense if she were to step out or check her communicator for updates.

Enterprise is under attack. Maybe. She isn’t sure if she really heard what she did, but between the hints of audio amidst faint static and the talk of violent rebellion, she feels her throat tighten, and she is sure they are really underwater, for there is no air.

* * *

“Go to tactical alert,” T’pol calls over the hiss of sparks from a panel. “Status report?”

“Hull breach on F deck,” says the officer staffing the science station. “Emergency bulkheads in place. No casualties.”

“Target their weapons,” T’pol says to the armory officer.

The alien ship fires again, but it glances off Enterprise’s now polarized hull.

“Target locked.”

“Fire.”

Two phaser shots hit the Senkari vessel’s phaser banks. “Their weapons are down,” the armory officer reports. Senkari weapons technology may be superior, but clearly their shielding is not.

She turns to the comm officer. “Ensign, send another message.”

“Channel open.”

“We do not wish to harm you. Explain why you attacked us.”

A long moment passes before the comm officer feels comfortable announcing, “No response.”

“They’re breaking orbit,” Travis announces.

T’pol doesn’t want to leave Hoshi – and the rest of the away team – on a planet whose people have shown signs of hostility, but she has a greater responsibility to investigate the attacking ship’s threat to Enterprise.

“Prepare to follow them, and open a channel to the away team.”

“I can’t reach the away team. I’m reading their transponder signal, but it’s garbled.”

“Boost as much as possible and send this message: A Senkari vessel opened fire on us with no casualties. We disabled their weapons, and they fled. We will break orbit to pursue and determine why.”

“Sending it.”

“Engage impulse drive.”

Before long, they have caught up with the still-fleeing hostile vessel, though sensors show another ship converging in the distance.

T’pol tries to hypothesize who the attackers could be — another ship, come to confirm why they remain in orbit? An enemy of the state, perhaps. It is equally plausible that the entire pretense of diplomacy was a way to trap their captain and destroy their ship. Enterprise is at an information disadvantage.

T’pol turns to the comm officer. “Ensign, hail them again.”

“They’re responding, audio only. I’ll patch them through.”

T’pol straightens her posture in the captain’s chair anyway.

“Explain your presence in the Senkari capitol.” The translator gives the speaker a smooth voice, but the untranslated layer is gruff and guttural, in contrast to the warbling voices of the Senkari with whom Enterprise had previously spoken.

She decides on telling the truth. “A diplomatic envoy from our crew is meeting with the Senkari government to discuss trade relations between our worlds.”

T’pol waits for a response.

“The Senkari are usurpers and tyrants. By allying yourselves with them, you take the side of deceit and injustice, and must be stopped.”

“We have not allied ourselves with the Senkari. Neither have we been informed of any tyranny they have committed. Our peoples have only been in contact for—”

“Enough! You have an envoy in their capital right now, eating their food and accepting their gifts in exchange for information and technology they can use to oppress us.”

“Who are you?”

The feed switches to video, and a face appears on the screen. The alien has broad cheeks, which appear paler than their otherwise rich green complexion. Their eyes are large and wide-set, and their nose and lips are so flush with their face as to be nearly nonexistent. The visible portion of their red garment is simple, but appears quite padded around the shoulders.

“I represent the Sendora revolution,” the alien finally speaks. “My people are an oppressed majority under Senkari military rule, and seek only to gain equal rights on our own homeworld.”

“Why did you shoot at us? “

“All Senkari have standing orders to destroy any suspected rebels on sight. Since you are clearly allied with them, it is safe to assume you are hostile.”

“We were unaware of any sentient species on this planet besides the Senkari.”

The alien huffs, turns their head to the side.

“This is our homeworld. The Senkari arrived on massive colony ships centuries ago and declared our planet theirs. Theirs! They brought asteroids of ice and flooded the continents we called home. They enslaved us and forced us to live underwater. We are forbidden from entering their capital city, and they do not acknowledge us in polite company even as our labor fuels their industries. You should have known better than to believe their lies.”

“If what you are saying is true, our captain will most likely terminate negotiations with the Senkari once he finds out.”

“You’re not the captain? This is a farce! I demand to speak to your captain.”

“I’m afraid that is impossible at the moment. Our captain is currently in the middle of diplomatic negotiations on the surface, and your jamming signal prevented us from contacting him.”

“So your leader has already been polluted by Senkari treachery. We have no more to discuss; prepare to die.”

“Wait!” T’pol calls, urgent to defuse the apparently unwinnable scenario.

The Sendora captain’s finger hovers over a button impatiently.

“Consider the situation logically. If you destroy our vessel, it will be classified either as an act of terrorism, giving credit to the Senkari’s claims against you, or as an act of war, bringing the wrath of an alliance whose species have technology far more advanced than this ship. If, however, you open negotiations and inform us of your grievance with the Senkari, our captain has a record of allying with causes he considers righteous. Give us four hours for our away team to return, and you will have an audience with Captain Archer.”

“Very well. Four hours.”

* * *

Hoshi ought to be focused, to help translate and bridge the cultural gap. As she sits at dinner with an assortment of senators, she finds herself all too grateful that her direct involvement is not needed. Archer has enthralled the table with stories of water polo, and the Senkari seem to be amazed by it.

So she lets her thoughts drift — Enterprise is under attack, if the snippets she caught are anything to go by. The Senkari seem like a peaceful race, but their weapons technology is highly advanced. It is unlikely that Enterprise would win in ship-to-ship combat against a single Senkari cruiser, let alone multiple ships. If the terrorists are a xenophobic faction, it would certainly serve their cause to destroy a human ship.

The staticky sounds from Hoshi’s communicator had ceased almost as soon as they began, and now she has no way to tell if Enterprise is okay.

Archer laughs at one senator’s comment, and Hoshi manages a smile. It seems the Senkari’s fascination with water polo is due to biological differences. Humans can only breathe air, so human water sports are necessarily on the surface of the water. From what Hoshi has gathered, the Senkari rarely approach the surface, as they have no natural shielding from their sun’s radiation. She holds her breath, imagines she is diving, wonders what it is like to be unable to drown.

Is drowning so different from suffocating in space?

Hoshi regrets brushing T’pol off so casually the previous night. She was unconcerned about the Senkari mission at the time, but routine missions are never truly routine, are they? Now that T’pol might be dead or dying, Hoshi can’t remember why she’d been so put off. Of course they were going to move in together; it’s only practical. She imagines waking up, turning over to see T’pol’s face, serene with sleep, and suddenly can’t hold her breath any longer. That future is never going to happen. It could never truly happen to begin with.

“Hoshi?” Archer asks.

She nearly jumps. “What?”

“I asked if you’re alright. You’ve had a strange look on your face, and you haven’t touched your food.”

“Oh.” Senkari etiquette, right. As if her mind wants to think about acceptable topics of conversation. She needs an answer to the captain’s question that wouldn’t offend the Senkari senators. “I was just daydreaming about our upcoming tour of the city.”

“You look awfully worried for just a tour.”

Hoshi thinks of a better excuse then, and it is so ridiculous she almost wants to laugh. “It’s a beautiful city, but most of it is underwater. Even in the submersible, we’ll miss out on most of it. I was practicing to see if I could hold my breath long enough for an airlock cycle to get into one of the museums.”

Archer smiles. “Unfortunately, we won’t have time for museums on this trip. Our tour guide’s schedule is quite busy.”

“Of course, captain.”

A senator sitting across from her pipes in, “I also understand your bodies cannot handle deep water? Perhaps a pressure suit is more appropriate if you plan to swim.”

Hoshi laughs, picks at her food, and tries not to count down the minutes until the entire visit is over.


	7. The Significance of Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They’re back, but things aren’t back to normal (and maybe that’s a good thing).

“If I never have to go to that planet again, it’ll be too soon,” Malcolm grumbles as he opens another jar of decon gel and spreads the shimmery goop on his calves.

Archer frowns. “Unfortunately, the President of Earth really wants to get a trade agreement with the Senkari before the Vulcans do. With our luck, we’ll be back in a few months.”

Hoshi has already covered herself in decon gel, so rather than joining their conversation, she decides to practice the simple meditation technique T’pol taught her years ago. Instead, she ends up remembering the day T’pol taught it to her. Alone together, already stressed to the point of panic by their imminent demise, T’pol’s words and touch and _presence_ soothing her back to sanity…

After that mission, Hoshi harbored an adolescent sort of crush on T’pol. She read everything she could find on the significance of touch in Vulcan culture, and overthought the meaning of T’pol’s hand on hers for weeks before realizing how ridiculous it was. A superior officer, a Vulcan at that, wouldn’t have come on to a mere ensign, and it was embarrassing to have even considered. Hoshi had gone to great lengths to forget about that phase. Maybe if she had remembered, she never would have agreed to pretend to date T’pol.

“The talks _were_ pretty dry,” Malcolm says. “Hoshi was zoning out the entire time.”

At the sound of her name, Hoshi looks up. “What?”

“Are you alright?” Archer asks, softly. “You seemed out of it earlier, too.”

She shakes her head. “It’s nothing. I’m just glad we’re back.”

“Do you want to talk with Dr. Phlox when we’re done in here?”

“No, really,” Hoshi says. “I was just… didn’t you hear it?”

“Hear what?” Archer says.

“I did hear some static from my communicator in the foreign affairs meeting,” Malcolm says, “but we were hearing it earlier as well.”

“It wasn’t just static. It was T’pol trying to reach out to us. She said something about casualties and opening fire.”

“Are you sure about that?” Archer asks.

“I know what I heard,” Hoshi snaps. “I’m just not sure what it meant.”

Malcolm looks down. “If it were the Senkari, Enterprise wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Hoshi just nods.

“If something happened, why wouldn’t T’pol tell us?” Archer asks.

“I heard the councilors talking about weapons and terrorism and…” She trails off in utter shock, then runs to the panel and presses the call button.

Phlox arrives at the window shortly, smiling kindly. “What can I do for you?” he asks.

Hoshi turns to Archer, who just gestures at her to go on. She swallows. “Did anything happen here while we were on Vegea?”

Phlox frowns. “There was a brief tactical alert. I believe a Senkari ship fired on us, but Commander T’pol was able to talk them down.”

“So we’re not being held hostage?”

Phlox looks baffled. “No, not at all.“

“Thank you, doctor.”

“If that’s all,” Phlox says, and closes the channel.

Hoshi sits down, tilting her head back and sighing in relief. “I don’t think I’ll quite believe it until I see T’pol’s face again.”

Archer smiles thoughtfully, but Malcolm furrows his brow.

“What exactly is going on between you? That’s the second time I’ve heard you address the commander without a title.”

Hoshi smiles, still leaning back, trying to be casual. “Oh, you know, we’re dating.”

“Your date the day before yesterday was with _Commander T’pol_?” Malcolm says.

“She’s really thoughtful,” Hoshi sighs, thinking of T’pol holding out a chair for her, wrapping her arm around Hoshi’s waist, entwining their fingers together. When she has a real relationship, she’d like it to feel like this.

Malcolm leers at her. “You know, I always sort of wondered if Vulcans would be, ah, passionate.”

Hoshi blinks at him.

“Well?”

Hoshi grits her teeth and rolls her eyes. Suddenly T’pol’s comment about gossip makes sense. She just sighs in relief when the chime rings and Phlox calls that they are free to go.

When the doors to decon open, Hoshi resists the urge to run, but still makes it to the turbolift first. Captain Archer joins her; Malcolm waves them on and heads off down the corridor.

When the lift doors open on the bridge, T’pol stands up and steps aside; Archer takes the offered seat and reads over status displays.

Hoshi watches, wondering if what she is considering is a misstep. The turbolift doors begin to close, so Hoshi shoves a hand between them and they slide back open. She steps onto the bridge, looking around. The crewman at the comm station looks at her expectantly, but she holds up a finger at him and continues around until she is face to face with Commander T’pol.

Hoshi looks at her, eyes seeking something. “I heard there was an attack,” she says, her voice feeling impossibly small.

“There was,” T’pol replies, her voice a low murmur. It is a balm to Hoshi’s ears, but not soothing enough. “A native species believed we were taking sides with the Senkari at their expense and attacked us. I was able to convince them to speak with Captain Archer before destroying Enterprise.”

“The trade council mentioned terrorist insurgents…”

“Politics are always a matter of perspective. This is why diplomacy exists.”

Hoshi brushes T’pol’s forearm with her hand and closes her eyes. “I heard snippets over the comms, but couldn’t get a clear picture. All I knew is that you were under attack…” She steps closer, presses her face into T’pol’s shoulder. “I was worried for you.”

“We were never in any serious—”

Hoshi presses her lips to T’pol’s — they are, in fact, as soft as she had expected — and finds herself wrapping a hand around T’pol’s neck to pull her closer, letting her other hand slide down her arm, fingers brushing against the back of T’pol’s knuckles before slipping between them, running her thumb meaningfully against T’pol’s palm.

T’pol is still for a disturbingly long moment, and Hoshi wonders if she has done something wrong, but then T’pol is kissing back and resting her free hand on Hoshi’s waist and oh, Hoshi is flying. She slides her hand up into T’pol’s hair, letting all her worry transmute into wanting, and soon her body can’t be close enough to T’pol’s, which is blessedly cool against her own that suddenly feels too hot—

Archer coughs, less than a meter away. T’pol merely breaks the kiss and lowers her hands, but Hoshi jumps back as if burned. She could swear T’pol’s eyes are smiling as Hoshi nods abruptly at the captain and rushes to her station.

When Hoshi finally looks up from her console, she makes eye contact with Travis, and he smiles so brightly it burns off some of the embarrassment.

 _I’m happy for you_ , he mouths at her.

 _Thanks_ , she mouths back, and spares a look at T’pol, whose smooth hair is slightly unsettled in the back where Hoshi gripped it. Hoshi can’t help the smile that graces her lips as she looks back down at her monitor, cheeks hot with something that is not embarrassment at all.

She notices a nearby ship on sensors, whose communication code is already entered in on her console, just seconds before she hears T’pol and Captain Archer stop murmuring.

Archer’s voice is louder now. “Ensign Sato, open a channel with the prime minister. I have something I’d like to discuss.”

The face of the Senkari prime minister appears on the viewscreen.

“Captain Archer, to what do we owe the pleasure?”

“My first officer tells me she had an encounter with a people known as the Sendora,” he replies, leaning back in his chair. “I was wondering what you can tell me about them.”

“Why, they are hardly sentient! They are carnivores, murderers, beasts, and they interfere constantly with the running of this society. I’m sure whoever your first officer met threatened to destroy your ship if you do not aid their cause! Is that not evidence enough of their barbarism?”

“I’ve heard all I need to know. It seems we won’t be opening trade relations with your people after all. Archer out.”

Hoshi closes the channel, still somewhat shocked.

“Did they really threaten to destroy the ship?” Malcolm asks.

“Desperate people are often forced to resort to desperate measures,” Archer replies. “If they really believe the Sendora are ‘barely sentient’, I’m not surprised. Let’s see what the Sendora have to say.”

When the Sendora captain’s face flickers onto the viewscreen, it is contorted in what appears to be a smile.

“It seems you have chosen the righteous path after all.”

“Why do you say that?”

“The Senkari are aiming their anti-spacecraft artillery at you. I do not believe they intend to shoot, only to ensure you do not return to the planet. You have eliminated yet another weapon from their arsenal.”

“Aren’t you going to ask for help, weapons, technology?”

“It is our fight to reclaim our world. Why should we enlist strangers in our own war? Go forth, and travel well.”

The channel closes before Archer can respond, so he instead orders the helm to set a course for Earth, and leans on his hand thoughtfully.

* * *

That night, Hoshi receives a personal message saying she is approved to move into T’pol’s quarters, and begins to pack her things.

Her clothing all fits into two boxes: one for uniforms and undergarments, and one for all the civilian clothes she owns. One box has room for the contents of her desk drawers. Decorations and toiletries fill another box.

She is unnerved to see all her worldly possessions in four boxes, as if that’s the sum of all she’s done in her lifetime. Intellectually, she knows her groundbreaking academic achievements have already affected the very nature of interspecies communication, which is her true legacy. But on a personal level, Hoshi Sato doesn’t seem to add up to much at all. She’s got family she only speaks to on special occasions. Her friendships among the crew are only transient friendships of convenience. And now she’s agreed to move in with a woman she’s not really dating. She has so much more to offer, if someone only asked to see it.

Hoshi has always longed to be known, wholly and deeply. She was offered exactly that, once, but it’s like a fairytale. Marry this strange man, become a pawn in the political machinations of a cruel kingdom, and you can be a princess, go to galas and wear fine dresses. Stay with this alien for the rest of your life, stolen away from everything you ever loved, and you can be known as you truly are. As a child, Hoshi always wanted to be a princess. Now, she isn’t so sure.

And now… she’s leaving the routine she’s built for herself, again, to live with a different alien — one who she’s trying to figure out, with some sort of foolish hope that she might be seen in return. Despite their differences, she recognizes something in T’pol. A hesitation, hidden behind superiority and sarcasm. A question; perhaps a yearning—

Then there was the kiss, and when Hoshi thinks about that she ends up with her face buried in a pillow, heart trying to escape her throat. It’s not that she hasn’t kissed anyone before, because she has; but she expected T’pol, being Vulcan, to at most passively accept her public display of affection, let it be seen by all relevant members of the crew, then leave her be. She certainly hadn’t expected T’pol to kiss her back, let alone with passion. She’s never heard of Vulcans kissing. They have a word for it, but _shok-tor_ more often refers to the brushing of hands in a specific manner.

Hoshi had also run her thumb along T’pol’s palm, to imitate the Vulcan gesture. And that _had_ gone unreturned. Hoshi isn’t even sure why she did it. Nobody else present would have understood the significance. She probably wanted to clarify the nature of their interaction to T’pol, to make it seem like more familiar territory, but given T’pol’s response to the kiss, she must have done quite a bit of research since they started. So Hoshi made a gesture of far more intimacy than was actually necessary. Great.

T’pol’s failure to return that gesture doesn’t mean anything in Hoshi’s instinctual vocabulary of touch, so it doesn’t sting nearly as much as the kiss still burns in Hoshi’s gut, but _logically_ , it was a clear rejection, a reminder that there isn’t really anything between them at all.

Still, there’s nowhere to go but forward. Hoshi looks at the pile of boxes, sighs in frustration, and picks up the first one.

Knowing T’pol, she’ll let it slide, taken in the good faith it was meant — not that that makes it any easier to live with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here on out, we're in the "I basically did NaNoWriMo but for Femslash February" part of the story - the draft is hastily written and needs polishing - so updates are gonna slow down. As always, thank you so much for reading!


	8. Boundaries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Living together isn't too easy to navigate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter references some canon torture and deals with a bit of corresponding trauma.

Hoshi puts the last box of her things on top of the pile and begins pacing across T’pol’s room. She has too much nervous energy to unpack and put stuff away, let alone get ready for bed like the time of night demands. They never did have their talk, and since the kiss there’s definitely _more_ that they need to talk about. Hoshi isn’t even sure what they’re doing anymore. She feels increasingly like she’s just going along with whatever T’pol wants. That’s one thing to discuss: boundaries.

Maybe it makes sense to start with the ‘moving in’ part.

Hoshi starts, “If we’re going to live together, we have to establish some sort of ground rules.”

T’pol turns off her computer terminal and stands up. “I don’t see why that’s necessary.”

“You never know when trouble will come up.”

“We both live according to Starfleet protocol, and the captain is our assigned mediator. I do not expect us to have any disputes worth mention.”

Hoshi feels a smile tug at her lips. “Imagine Captain Archer mediating between you and me.”

“That’s why I don’t foresee any disputes.” T’pol’s tone is lighter than normal.

“I hope so, but we should still clarify the parameters of our arrangement.”

“There’s nothing to clarify. We will live out of the same quarters and maintain an appropriate façade of physical and emotional intimacy in front of the crew. If what we have been doing is sufficient, we can continue as we are. We will coordinate our schedules and living arrangements in whichever manner is most logical at the time.”

Hoshi is a bit frazzled by T’pol’s lack of reaction.

“Oh, that’s it! And how long will we lie to everyone?”

“It does not have to be much longer. When we return from our upcoming shore leave, we can reevaluate the crew’s opinion of us.”

“Frankly, I’m already sick of their opinions.”

“The entire point of our relationship is to instigate gossip.”

“Yeah. Well. Now people are asking me what it’s like to have sex with a Vulcan, and generally prying into my life in ways I really, _really_ don’t appreciate. And you won’t even tell me the real reason you’re doing this, because I _know_ Commander Tucker would leave you alone if you asked. His crush on you isn’t nearly enough of an excuse to justify this… this _farce_ you roped me into!”

“I did ask him,” T’pol says, “months ago. He said he would stop, and he made a brief effort to control himself, but his feelings toward me have not changed. I understand it is common for human men to be undeterred by rejection when pursuing a potential partner.”

“So you wanted to prove that you’re not on the market?” Very human of her, not that Hoshi would say such a thing out loud.

“It still seems like the only way to convince him and everyone else.”

Hoshi sighs. She is weak, as always, in the face of T’pol’s faultless reasoning. “Then we can’t just break up; we’ll have to keep this up for a few months. I should have talked to you last night, but Dr. Phlox insisted I get my inoculations against common Vulcan pathogens as soon as possible, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“You said you were just going to visit his iguana.”

“I didn’t want to invite even more rumors about my sex life.”

“Maybe you should have.”

“Oh, no. You might want rumors about us, but people aren’t asking _you_ what we do behind closed doors.”

T’pol picks a candle off the shelf and cradles it in her hands. “We could always establish an explanation of how we mate.”

Hoshi tries to tell whether T’pol is joking, but her expression is as serious as ever. Her mouth goes dry. As curious as she might be, the knowledge will only confuse her further.

“I think I’d rather leave their questions unanswered,” Hoshi says shakily.

“Then I suppose I shouldn’t suggest you examine the _sanosh-tersh-dunap_.”

“The _what_ anthology?”

“You have a dictionary,” T’pol says, turning away. “If you don’t mind, it’s time for me to meditate. I ask that you keep quiet for the next half hour.”

“No problem,” Hoshi says, dumbfounded by T’pol’s sudden retreat.

Hoshi doesn’t want to unpack her clothes before checking where to put them, but she might as well get ready for bed, so she strips to her uniform undergarments — a tank top and shorts, nothing indecent — takes off her bra and folds her uniform around it, and puts the pile on the night table.

When she looks up, she sees T’pol kneeling on the floor, perfectly still except for the slow rise and fall of her chest. She has surrounded herself with candles, the largest one sitting like a centerpiece on a low table. She sits on a cushion on the floor in front of it. Her eyes are closed, and her hands rest loosely on her knees. Despite the near-perfect stillness, Hoshi could swear the flames are burning higher than they have any right to.

T’pol’s suggestion to use a dictionary was clearly a challenge, but digging through boxes to get a dictionary would make too much noise, so Hoshi sits down and turns the word — _sanosh_ — over in her head. Hoshi isn’t bothered by the gap in her vocabulary; it is clearly an obscure word, and the languages she doesn’t actively use tend to fade after a while. It could be a compound word — the masculine prefix ‘sa’ with ‘nosh’, condition, forming something like ‘masculinity’ — but T’pol clearly said _sanosh_ , not _sa-nosh_.

It sounds vaguely, distantly familiar, but it isn’t used in any Vulcan she’s ever heard spoken. The root could, instead of _nosh_ , be _sano_ — like _sanokik_ , an uncommon adjective along the lines of ‘enjoyable’. A book about enjoyment? Happiness? But happiness would more accurately be _kunli’es_ , which is a distinctly spiritual state; the pleasant things described as _sanokik_ must then be distinct from that—

Hoshi realizes exactly where she’s heard that word before. It is in a verse of a pre-Surak romantic poem:

_nufau gad-shen sanosh fi'etek  
lamekh-ashal-veh pumeskarauk  
hi'ilau tau katra hi  
etek ek'manik teretuhr na'la-wak_

the sunrise offers pleasure to us  
my warm beloved is held  
fever tickles my spirit but  
we are safe together for the moment

So _sanosh_ is ‘pleasure’, in the wholly physical sense. It could describe the feeling of the sun on one’s skin, but from the context of their discussion — and the undeniably carnal implications of the poem — it is likely T’pol just told Hoshi of a book on Vulcan sexuality. The fact that T’pol even mentioned it is surprising. The idea of Vulcans having a sex life beyond the bare demands of procreation is hard to imagine — or perhaps all too easy, if a single Vulcan comes to mind, and if a certain kiss earlier is to be taken into evidence.

T’pol stirs, and Hoshi tries to brush her inappropriate thoughts aside.

“Hoshi,” T’pol says hoarsely after a long moment. “I didn’t intend to prevent you from going about your business.”

Hoshi smiles, touched by the gesture. “ _nufau gad-shen sanosh fi'etek,_ ” she recites, bubbling with the excitement of being in on a naughty secret. “I have a question, then. What is this _Pleasure Anthology_?”

“It is not a book.”

“It says _dunap_ in the name.”

“It is not a _single_ book.”

Hoshi raises her eyebrows.

“Thousands of years ago,” T’pol explains, “families would compile volumes of advice when young adults approached the age of marriage. Many took the form of epic romantic poems, which model the tribulations of marriage and family life. Others consisted of personal anecdotes, or anatomical diagrams. These volumes were passed down for generations. Their advice has been rendered obsolete by Surak’s teachings, though they had long since become uncommon. The majority of _sanosh-tersh-dunap_ have been lost to the passage of time.”

If they were all gone, T’pol wouldn’t have mentioned the possibility of having Hoshi read one, and she’s certainly piqued Hoshi’s curiosity. “Do you have one?”

“My family does. I expect if you read it, you would be able to answer some of the crew’s questions.”

Hoshi isn’t interested in outright discussing sex, she isn’t sure she could handle that, but she can’t deny her curiosity. “Could you get me a copy?”

“No. We do not digitize or copy them. You would have to visit my ancestral home.”

Hoshi gulps. That is a _much_ larger commitment than she was expecting. “I guess I’ll just use my imagination.”

T’pol nods.

Hoshi fidgets, unsure how to change the topic to something more comfortable. Instead, she digs in a box for her toiletries, which she carries to the bathroom. T’pol has cleared a shelf for her, which Hoshi gladly fills with her things and gets ready for bed.

When she steps out of the bathroom, she realizes yet another issue: there’s only the one single bed.

“Hey, T’pol,” she asks, projecting her voice a bit more than necessary. “Where am I supposed to sleep?”

T’pol turns around from adjusting her candles. “On the bed.”

Hoshi looks at the bed, tries to do the math. “And… where are you going to sleep?”

“Two people are made to share a smaller sleeping area during survival training.”

Hoshi grimaces. She was expelled before she reached that part of Starfleet training. Once again, she’s missing something important. She’s inadequate.

“The situation is only temporary,” T’pol adds in a soft tone. Apologetic, almost. “We’ll be supplied with a double bed during the upcoming refit.”

“Three days, then. How about this? I’ll try it, and if I can’t sleep, I’ll ask the captain to let me stay in my old quarters until then.”

“Perhaps it is best that you decide if you can sleep here before you unpack.” T’pol leans into a drawer to gather up what looks like a set of pink silk pajamas. “If you can’t, it might make our relationship less convincing.”

“I’ll do my best. Are you okay with the wall side?”

“Of course. I’ll join you shortly.”

When T’pol leaves for the bathroom, Hoshi finds the box with her desk drawer contents and fishes out her most prized possession: a data chip containing terabytes of literature, the greatest works of a thousand cultures on a hundred planets, more than she could read in a lifetime. If the books were paper, they would fill a library the size of a large house, at least.

Normally, she likes to keep a pair of padds by her bed, one with a book and one with the relevant linguistic database, but she hasn’t read much recently. Perhaps the Andorian police procedural she’s been working on hasn’t held her interest. Maybe she’s just found other ways to spend her free time.

Instead, she checks her collection of Vulcan literature. There are a great deal of modern treatises, as well as poetry and historical volumes, but nothing resembling the _Pleasure Anthologies_ that T’pol described. She’ll have to use her imagination, after all. But not tonight. Not when she’s about to sleep in uncomfortably close proximity with the other half of those scenarios.

The bathroom door _swishes_ open, and Hoshi hides the padd and data chip underneath her folded uniform before T’pol emerges from the hallway. She waits for T’pol to take her spot in the bed, and then lies down beside her, as far apart as possible in such a small space, and tries to empty her mind.

* * *

_Hoshi is trapped, tied to a chair while an alien with rough skin and a cruel voice tells her exactly how she will betray her people. In another lifetime, she spit in his face; this time, she just feels her pulse race with the promise that he’s right, that she is helpless, that her will is nothing, and that even as she struggles she is trapped, trapped—_

T'pol wakes with a sudden unnerving realization. In her unawareness, and perhaps as a result of her poor meditation, she has shifted away from the corner of the bed which she relegated to herself and is now pressed against Hoshi’s side, one arm and one leg wrapped around her. Ever since leaving Vulcan, there has always been a chill that never quite left her bones, and for this moment, soaking in the heat of Hoshi’s body, she is truly, deeply warm. She isn’t sure if it’s worth the loss of dignity.

It appears the extensive physical contact with Hoshi’s bare skin was enough, with the lowered barriers of sleep, that Hoshi’s nightmare projected itself into T’pol’s mind. It would have been unsurprising if this happened with another Vulcan, though Vulcans do not share beds. That it happened with a human is unexpected but not implausible; given the amount of time T’pol has spent with Hoshi, it is natural that the beginnings of a psychic bond would form — though she is not sure whether it hasn’t been there ever since she first touched Hoshi’s mind, years ago in the mess of a sinking Klingon vessel.

T’pol did not intend to eavesdrop on Hoshi’s dreams, but now that she is aware, she owes it to her to help. She debates, then, whether to use their newly-acknowledged hint of a psychic bond to control and calm Hoshi’s dreams, changing the topic to something more neutral, or, better yet, putting her back in control. It would be a violation to do so without Hoshi’s consent, but she could not understand if T’pol tried to explain.

The alternative is to wake her up and ask for permission, or to merely calm her while she is awake; this is the more ethical choice, but T’pol does not wish to do it. She is still wrapped around Hoshi’s warm body — an indulgence that, in her half-awake state, T’pol is loath to give up.

It takes only the slightest shift in focus, however, to hear the broad strokes of Hoshi’s dream again, where she is writhing and screaming against bonds that chafe her skin, and T’pol draws herself away, eerily suspicious that her arms were the cage Hoshi struggled against.

“Hoshi,” T’pol says. Her voice comes out quieter than intended, and the young woman does not stir. “Hoshi!”

Hoshi’s eyes open, she gasps a breath, and T’pol feels a dizzying rush of relief. Perhaps she is being careless with her emotions. She clamps down on the thread of irrationality that wanted her to not wake Hoshi, that worried about her nightmares for any reason other than that T’pol has been entrusted with an aspect of her friend’s wellbeing.

“You were having a nightmare,” T’pol explains as Hoshi shifts in the bed. She looks vulnerable, with her hair haloed around her head, her plush cheeks reddened, her rosy lips slightly parted.

“We’re okay?” Hoshi mumbles, and T’pol feels that voice worm through her freshly erected barriers.

“We are on Enterprise, en route to Earth. You are as safe as can be expected.” Despite her efforts, T’pol’s voice comes out pleading.

Hoshi turns onto her side, facing T’pol, and tucks a hand under her cheek. “Thanks.”

“Will you be all right?”

Hoshi starts to nod, but then whispers, so quietly that another human wouldn’t be able to hear, “Could we do that meditation exercise again?”

Words are unnecessary. Instead, T’pol reaches for Hoshi’s hand. Her fingernails brush lightly against Hoshi’s cheek as she pulls her hand to rest between them. She feels Hoshi’s pulse accelerate slightly, and senses an awkward nervousness which she disregards as merely the human dislike of asking for help.

“Imagine your thoughts are an ocean,” T’pol begins, and reaches out to soothe Hoshi’s fears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're binge reading, here's another suggested break point. I'm putting these reminders roughly every 8500 words, wherever there's a bit of a lull before the next arc picks up.


	9. (In)offensive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> T’pol tells Hoshi the truth — most of it.

T’pol’s morning meditation is brief and unaided, and she chooses to do it lying in bed so she doesn’t have to climb over Hoshi and wake her. Nearly two hours remain before their shift begins, and she would prefer to let Hoshi sleep as much as necessary.

T’pol is nearly finished when Hoshi’s alarm blares. Hoshi jumps out of bed, curses under her breath, and begins to hunt down the source of the noise among her still-unpacked things. Nearly a minute passes before she silences the offensive sound, and T’pol is extremely grateful she finished her meditation, as the sound may have elicited an angry reaction if she hadn’t.

“I should unpack this before our shifts start. Where can I put my belongings?”

“You may use the top two desk drawers, and the top three drawers of the bureau. I can also clear the shelf opposite the entrance for you.”

“Thanks.”

Hoshi unpacks one box into her desk drawers and disassembles it. She pulls a photograph of her family out of the next box and frowns at it.

“Feel free to decorate the room as you please,” T’pol offers.

Hoshi traces the silver metal of the picture frame with her finger. “I thought Vulcans didn’t like decorated rooms.”

“That advice was for a refined and austere guest. I don’t mind décor. I’d prefer you feel at home here.”

Hoshi smiles brilliantly, and T’pol feels her own heart clench. It is an unwarranted response to such a small gesture.

“Thank you,” Hoshi says, and places the photograph on the back corner of the desk. She empties the rest of the box, placing small sculptures and wall hangings in carefully chosen places and dismantling the box.

Hoshi rummages through her uniform clothes in the next box, removing a clean uniform and set of undergarments and rearranging the remainder.

T’pol realizes she is not taking them out of the box, and wonders if Hoshi plans to leave them there. “The top three drawers of the bureau are yours,” she repeats.

“I know, I just figured maybe it’s better if we don’t risk mixing up our clothes. I mean, I’m already imposing in your house, and imagine if I accidentally showed up on the bridge with commander’s pips. And we’re not even nearly the same size. You’re all leggy and strong. I’m just… small. Soft.”

T’pol feels a knife twist in her gut at this description of the woman she has come to know, even as it is stated in facts that hold no innate moral value. Hoshi clearly sees herself negatively, and does not realize that the things she criticizes in herself are far from undesirable.

“You are not lacking in any way.” It is a poor consolation, but this is not a conversation that falls within the realm of anything T’pol was prepared for. The fact of the matter is that she is in over her head. “And I did ask you to live here, so you cannot impose.”

Hoshi looks down and smiles, but it does not reach her eyes. “I know how it sounds. Usually I don’t compare myself, but sharing little domestic things, I just can’t help noticing all the things you have that I don’t.”

T’pol looks at Hoshi, kneeling on the ground next to the open box, and feels an emotion tugging at the corner of her mind, hot like anger. She briefly thinks it might be jealousy, but jealousy is something she knows well. If she had to put words to it, she is frustrated with the situation. She is upset by the injustice of Hoshi’s self-deprecation.

T’pol, too, has noticed attributes that they do not share. Hoshi has a way with people, as if she is impossible to know and not to like. Most of the time, she is comfortable in her own skin. Her eyes are a warm, rich brown, and twinkle when they catch the light, especially when she is emotional. Her easygoing charm suffuses every aspect of her personality, and is the epitome of everything T’pol is not.

“You have your own drawers, and the left side of the closet,” T’pol finally manages, but her voice is choked.

“What?”

T’pol swallows and tries again. “You are concerned about mixing our clothes together. If we store them in separate chambers, that won’t be an issue.”

“Right. Yeah.” Hoshi seems startled by the return of her own logic.

“As for the rest, I will do what I can to protect you from feeling inferior,” T’pol says.

“I don’t think that’s something you can control.”

“It is all I can do,” T’pol says, voice shaking with something approaching fear. “If you would prefer, instead, to terminate our arrangement, it is not too late.”

Hoshi’s eyes search T’pol’s face. “Are you alright? There’s something you’re not telling me.”

She is desperate; if Hoshi decides to terminate their living situation, T’pol will more likely than not find herself stuck in an unbearable marriage, yet she cannot ask Hoshi for any more than the immense gift she has already given. Since their relationship became common knowledge, T’pol has felt at ease with her shipmates to an extent she finds unfamiliar but not unpleasant. She does not dwell on how that ease is more pronounced when Hoshi is at her side.

“It is a personal matter,” T’pol says, wishing she could say more.

Hoshi reaches a hand out. “Just let me know what I can do.”

T’pol takes Hoshi’s hand, unsure of its purpose, and Hoshi uses it to pull herself to standing. It is a strange gesture, given that T’pol expected to provide comfort, but is not inconsistent with how she has seen humans behave.

T’pol wants to tell Hoshi the entire truth, of betrothal and bonding and the fever that can only be purged by love or death. Of millennia of instinct and tradition conspiring to entrap her in a box the size of her ancestral home. Of a fear and longing that has driven her away from everything she ever knew to find hope among the stars.

“Suffice it to say this relationship will prove an important point to my family.”

“I understand.” Hoshi smiles softly and sits next to T’pol. “If it helps, I could tell you a bit about my family.”

“Go on,” T’pol asks hesitantly, unsure how it could help.

“When he was sixteen, my brother, Kuku, started dating this girl, Yua. She’s extremely intense, and Kuku is so quiet everyone thought she would suffocate him. But she brought him out of his shell. When she went to management school and he studied journalism on another continent, everyone was sure they would grow apart, but the distance made them realize how much they enjoyed being together. They got married right after graduating. Kuku was only twenty-two.”

“Not that young, for a human,” T’pol says, more confused than before.

“No, but it’s very early to get married. I’m almost twenty-seven and still haven’t found anyone. Which is normal. But whenever I visit home, my parents try to set me up with some family friend. It’s like they don’t understand when I say I’m not ready to settle down.”

“Then our arrangement will benefit you on your shore leave.”

“Oh, I’m not bothered by it. They mean well, and I think part of me keeps wishing it were that easy to find love. I just wanted to say, I know what it’s like for your family to want impossible things from you.”

Hoshi turns back to her box of clothing. This time she hangs the uniforms in the closet, filling the space in the middle with civilian clothes so that her uniforms are easily distinguished from T’pol’s. Her undergarments go in one of her drawers, and the remainder of her civilian clothes go in another. Within minutes, the last boxes are emptied and folded, and Hoshi turns to view the room, proud of her work.

“I’m gonna take a shower and get ready for my shift. Do you need the bathroom?”

“I do not,” T’pol replies. “I may leave before you are finished. I’d like to check the results of an experiment I ran last night.”

“What kind of experiment?”

“An attempt to increase the resolution of the long-distance sensors. I programmed them to run periodic scans as we passed a known star system six hours ago.”

“I hope it went well,” Hoshi says cheerfully, turning to enter the bathroom. In the doorway, she turns around. “Hey, is it alright if Travis joins us for dinner tonight? I’ve sort of been ditching my standing plans with him to spend time with you.”

“By all means. I look forward to it.”

When Hoshi emerges to get ready for work, T’pol is indeed, already gone.

* * *

After dinner, Hoshi is once again uneasy. Travis and T’pol, she notes, cannot hold a conversation with each other. His casual conversation topics make her uncomfortable, and her preferred topics don’t interest him. Hoshi’s friendship with Travis will have to be kept separate from her relationship with T’pol. She supposes that makes it easier on her.

Much as Hoshi tries to act unbothered — she isn’t bad at hiding her emotions, she just prefers not to — T’pol somehow notices Hoshi’s unease, linking her hand with Hoshi’s as they walk home from the mess hall, which only makes her more unnerved. Hoshi wants to put as much distance between her and T’pol as she possibly can on such a small ship, until she figures out what’s going on. She thought the veneer of domesticity wouldn’t bother her, but something about it crawls under her skin. There’s a monster under the bed, and it’s the lie they’re living.

“Why do you hold my hand?” Hoshi manages to ask.

T’pol lets go. “We’re dating in the human paradigm, and I understand that includes… physical affection.”

“Like the kiss yesterday?”

“Given the situation, it is only logical to observe human dating practices.”

“I don’t mind if you’re not comfortable with it, really.”

“I’m not doing it for your sake.”

Hoshi blanches at that, but she really can’t say she’s surprised. Despite everything she’s done for T’pol’s comfort, T’pol isn’t doing any of this with comfort in mind.

Hoshi almost continues down the hall past their quarters, but catches herself. Her old room is empty now. They’ll probably reassign it after the upcoming shore leave.

“Would you like to join me for my evening meditation?” T’pol asks, standing in the door.

“You’ll have to explain how it works.”

“It’s simple. Focus on the candle, and envision that it represents your thoughts. Strong emotions cause the flame to burn higher, while peace calms it to an ember. Your goal is to control the fire.”

“Is that possible?”

“It is an imagination exercise.”

“Okay. How do we start?”

“I usually prefer to change into comfortable clothing first.”

“Alright,” Hoshi replies, unsure how her clothes make a difference but gathering a tank top and sweatpants nonetheless.

As Hoshi turns to go to the bathroom, T’pol unzips her uniform jumpsuit and steps out of it right there. She unbuttons the black undershirt, exposing her sharp collarbones, then slides it off her shoulders and bends down to remove her pants, muscles shifting in the low light, and Hoshi can’t breathe nor look away.

T’pol folds the uniform garments before meeting Hoshi’s eyes. Ashamed, Hoshi scurries to the bathroom, where she leans against the closed door and presses her pile of clothes to her chest, heart racing.

* * *

They sit on decorative pillows on opposite sides of the low table, each with her own large candle. Hoshi doesn’t feel the candle respond to her at all. She can envision her feelings, but not as a flame. At present, they are all centered on the woman in front of her, whose candle does truly seem to be flickering high but gradually calming. She focuses on T’pol’s candle instead of her own, envisioning her frustration over dinner, her difficulty adapting to their new living situation, and the strange lightness she felt at seeing T’pol’s body, and letting them all burn away in the fire.

When T’pol’s flame settles to a slow ember, Hoshi truly feels calmer. Never mind that her own candle is still burning normally, flickering as it goes. Maybe there’s a trick she’s missing, some behind-the-scenes feedback mechanism. T’pol holds the snuffer over her candle until it goes out in a string of smoke. She gestures to Hoshi, who nods, and T’pol does the same to hers, then stands to put out her other assorted candles.

“Will you be able to sleep here?” T’pol asks after the last flame is extinguished.

“I’ll be fine. It wasn’t so bad, and I’m glad you were there to help with my nightmare.”

T’pol doesn’t mention that she was glad as well; that emotional fact is irrelevant.

The doorbell rings, and the two women look at each other.

T’pol heads to the door, pressing the unlock button to reveal the slightly hunched form of Commander Tucker.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “is it a bad time?”

“It’s fine. I expected your insomnia would improve since you got your revenge.”

“Should I—” Trip gestures to himself and T’pol nods. He removes his shirt while answering her question. “No amount of revenge will bring Elizabeth back. I used to write her every week, and now it’s Thursday again and there’s still no response.”

T’pol is an only child. She can’t possibly relate. Hoshi looks up from the book she’s conveniently buried her nose in, feeling a sorrowful twinge that makes T’pol’s lack of response seem shallow.

“Look,” Trip continues, “I really don’t like imposing on you like this, especially now that you’ve got this whole,” he gestures around them, “domestic bliss thing going on. I’m seeing a therapist when we get back to Earth, and I’ll try to figure the rest out on my own.”

When T’pol seeks out Trip’s pressure points, she still, as always, senses arousal from him, but it is softer, numbed by an overwhelming shame.

When he is gone, T’pol perches on the edge of the bed and sighs a deep, calming breath — which she immediately regrets. His scent, like most humans’, is unpleasant and pervasive, despite his short stay in her quarters. It is odd, she realizes, that she has noticed no such effect from Hoshi, who, at the end of the day, smells faintly of salt but mostly of the lingering herbal fragrance of her soap. Perhaps there is something different about her, or perhaps it is a matter of perception: Hoshi’s presence is pleasant, even desired, and thus does not register as an intrusion.

Hoshi presses a button on the padd she is reading and sets it down. “Would you like to go to bed?” she asks. Surely Hoshi didn’t intend the connotation, but T’pol nonetheless imagines exploring an entirely different set of neuropressure points on Hoshi’s body, a thought which she quickly silences.

She considers changing the sheets first, but to do so over such a minor offense would be illogical and, worse, irrational. Instead, she could allow the scent time to dissipate by sharing a portion of the truth — which she owes to Hoshi, who has requested so few details from T’pol.

“I am to be married when we return home.”

“What?” Hoshi asks, blinking rapidly.

“I was to leave sooner, but I had the captain request that I stay for the Senkari mission.”

“Why not just tell me the truth? About the marriage?”

“My request would have been no different, so there was no reason to explain any more. We do not speak of our customs with outsiders.” _Hoshi could not understand._

“Then why are you telling me now?”

T’pol is already under enough pressure — from the High Council, from Starfleet, from her mother, from Koss and Trip — that she wishes to end the conflict that has recently tainted her nascent… _companionship_ with Hoshi — though any choice of word to describe what is forming between them seems inadequate.

She cannot stand to continue lying to her. Maybe it truly is that simple.

“I do not wish,” T’pol offers, keeping her voice even, “to continue to deceive you.”

After the moment stretches on a little too long, T’pol adds, “You have been upset by it, which makes our relationship less believable.”

It is best that both of them remember their place, before this hint of a bond causes them to feel something too personal toward each other. Much as T’pol does not want to be wed to Koss, she does not desire to be bonded in any way to a human.

“Okay,” Hoshi responds. “How will dating me help?”

“I’m sure you’ve been told that Vulcans mate for life,” T’pol begins, wondering if she should not be sharing so much, particularly after her impulsive discussion of the _sanosh-tersh-dunap_. “When we are children, we bond with a partner whom our parents choose for compatibility. However, if we become close with someone else, we may form a greater bond with them, in which case the originally planned union would be ineffective. If I can demonstrate that I have formed an adult bond with you, I can petition to have my betrothal annulled.”

“You’re saying it’s about marrying for love?”

“Compatibility, not love. It is not an emotional response, though it is a limbic one.”

“Limbic?”

“Primitive. Involuntary.”

“So you form involuntary attachments to people, who you then marry in place of whoever you were originally engaged to, and it’s something completely different from falling in love?”

“Not completely. There are similarities.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Compatible temperament. Philosophical alignment. Complementary careers are recommended.”

“And you expect they’ll believe you have all of those with me?”

“I admit it’s far-fetched,” T’pol says, immediately regretting her choice of words, which were intended from the council’s perspective but are completely unreasonable from her own. She can think of nothing far-fetched about becoming attached to Hoshi Sato.

“How do we make it more believable, then?”

“Do you still wish to help me?” T’pol asks, the air feeling thicker somehow.

Hoshi slides a hand toward her, but stops shy of touching. “I said I would, and I plan to follow through.”

Hoshi’s conviction is comforting, though T’pol does not require it. She does not let her emotions control her. Still, she slides her hand atop Hoshi’s in gratitude. She does not miss how Hoshi’s cheeks ever so slightly redden at the gesture, nor how her lips part slightly. She wonders, for a moment, that she managed to choose such an ideal partner for her scheme.

“There is nothing more for us to do,” T’pol says. “We have demonstrated emotional intimacy by spending time together, and physical intimacy by living together and sharing public displays of affection. The only remaining step is to convince the council assigned to my case that it is logical for a Vulcan to bond and mate with a human.”

“They don’t think it is?”

“It has never been attempted.”

“Never? In ninety years?”

“How many Vulcans have you seen with humans outside of diplomatic contexts?”

Hoshi looks off into the corner and thinks a moment before replying, “I see your point.”

“I hold a great respect for you,” T’pol says, with more fondness than perhaps is called for. “Given our own compatibility, a union between the two of us might be plausible enough to convince even a Vulcan council.”

Hoshi’s eyes burn into hers and she knows with absolute certainty that there are no spatial anomalies; the room is not actually any smaller than it was mere moments ago. She wonders if what she has said is too personal, may give Hoshi the wrong idea entirely about what she seeks from this relationship. She is incapable of loving her.

“Our own compatibility? I feel like I’ve done nothing but fight with you the past three days.”

“We have had disagreements, but they all stem from my failure to communicate, which I have attempted to rectify. Further, each one was resolved by discussion. I have seen Captain Archer get more upset about far more trivial matters. That we are able to resolve arguments fairly and calmly is a strong indicator of compatibility. Potentially, after several years, we would be able to communicate well enough to preempt those arguments happening in the first place.”

“Several years?”

“If we were to stay together that long. We should be able to terminate our agreement shortly after I return from Vulcan.”

Hoshi’s face twists into something that, to T’pol, looks like confusion but feels like regret.

“Yeah,” she says, and motions to go to bed.

* * *

The Vulcan cruiser that picks up T’pol is supposedly capable of warp 8. Captain Archer was surprised to learn the Vulcans sent such an advanced ship as, effectively, T’pol’s personal shuttle. Hoshi takes it as proof that her wedding is really that important.

Hoshi is permitted a break from her duties to follow T’pol to the airlock. A Vulcan attaché is already waiting when they get there.

“This is it then,” Hoshi says, half inflecting the statement like a question. She almost reaches out for T’pol’s hand but catches herself and just taps her fingers against the side of her thigh instead.

“I will see you in only two weeks,” T’pol says, but it is a small solace.

“I know,” Hoshi says with an attempt at a smile. “Good luck.”

Hoshi opens her arms, offering a hug, but T’pol takes a half step toward the door, eyes not leaving Hoshi’s. This is it. Hoshi has so much she wants to say, but only time for a few more words.

“ _Rom-halan. Dungi din-tor._ ” Farewell. I will miss you.

T’pol nods at her and turns to step onto her transport vessel.

* * *

That night, Hoshi lights the candle T’pol gifted her and sits with it, staring into the flickering flame. It does not calm, but neither do her thoughts. The first step in trying to purge her emotions is to feel them, and she feels… T’pol.

They didn’t share much, and yet she remembers holding hands that first day, when T’pol was just trying to be human about it and Hoshi was nervously overthinking. The tidal disruption party, T’pol’s attention on her, arm never leaving Hoshi’s waist after that. Hoshi’s own missteps, slightly inebriated but mostly drunk off the affection, and T’pol’s careful boundary-drawing. She didn’t follow Hoshi into her quarters, but invited Hoshi to move into her own.

Then there was the Senkari mission, which went nothing like anyone had planned. Hoshi’s panic on the surface when she thought Enterprise was under attack. Her irritation in decon at a playful jab about their relationship. And then the kiss. Moving in with T’pol, who was eager to accommodate her despite being painfully awkward. Watching her strip, feeling less ashamed than she should to be caught. Hearing T’pol’s truth, shared with her like a rare treasure.

The candle burns as high as ever. She is lonely, and somehow dwelling only seems to amplify it. She’ll never be able to control her feelings the way Vulcans do. She can only ever be human.

Hoshi blows out the candle and stares at the wisp of smoke longingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Certain undertones of pre-Surak literature (in this and the previous chapter) and the phrasing “the fever that can only be purged by love or death” are inspired by the wonderful Voyager fic [The Heart of a Friend](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12303282) by ShayneyL.


	10. Infinite Diversity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> T’pol makes her case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This whole thing is utterly ridiculous and unnecessary and delightful. I’m basking in my own pretentiousness.

When T’pol enters the courtroom, the coolness of the indoor air washes over her like relief. Her eyes adjust quickly to the dim light, and she sees a small council of three elders and an empty chair sitting proudly behind a semicircular table.

The council assigned to adjudicate her case is small. Just four elders. One from her family, one from Koss’, and two judges: one junior and one senior Kolinahru, who have managed the ritual purging of all emotion, thus achieving complete objectivity for the cases they preside over.

The senior judge, Svaik, is in highest demand and thus busiest, and it is for him they wait. All this is typical for a civil dispute between two individuals. It says much to the urgency of the case that this council could be arranged the same day she arrived on Vulcan.

There is no seat for her, and it is uncertain when Svaik will arrive, so she sits gingerly on a wooden bench along the perimeter of the room. The voluminous fabric of her ceremonial robe is unpleasant; no matter how she adjusts it, the wrinkles irritate her thighs. Fortunately, she will be able to stand once the chief justice enters.

Now that there are no longer light-years between them, she can reach out to Koss along their bond. His mind is a tempest, and it is only through constant guided meditation that he is able to keep it in check, but it is not yet too late for him to bond with another, or even recover. She deeply regrets making him suffer this, but at least he has not been driven to indignity. She hopes he never will be, but every minute she spends on this planet whose once-comforting heat now feels stifling, she becomes increasingly concerned that she might yet lose her case.

The issue, as she has been informed, is that Koss does not wish to be bonded to anyone but T’pol. As she can reach out and sense him, now, she knows it to be true. Even in his illogic, he considers himself wholly devoted to her. He has lived a sheltered life in which he has never encountered the possibility of desiring anyone else.

The truth — that she does not wish to be bonded, not to him or to any other man — is not difficult to believe, but it is the Vulcan way to suppress one’s own desires for the collective good. She has spent too much time around humans if she would wait for a mate she finds personally pleasing, if she thinks her own desires have anything to do with it at all. Koss has been deemed compatible with her, and so, once bonded, they will grow accustomed to each other in time. He believes his persistence is a virtue. He is kind; he wishes to help her live the best version of her life within Vulcan society. Perhaps, in another lifetime, she should be grateful for it.

A man in particularly ornate robes enters the room. His hair is grey and skin is weathered with age, but he stands tall and looks down at T’pol appraisingly as he slides into his seat.

“The proceedings may begin,” he says.

T’pol stands from her bench and steps into the brightly lit center of the room. She resists the urge to introduce herself like a schoolchild; they all know who she is.

“I intend to argue for the right to annul my legal betrothal to Koss, in light of my superseding bond with the human Hoshi Sato,” T’pol says. “My chief arguments will be for efficacy, diplomacy, and philosophy.”

“Noted,” says the junior judge, a middle-aged woman named Keinar whose hair curls around the edges. While the others interrogate, it is her role in these proceedings to observe and record, catch any mistakes or logical fallacies, and maintain order.

“I will begin with efficacy,” T’pol continues, and steels herself for the closest thing she will tell to a lie. “Koss has been bonded to me, and I to him. Fifty-two cycles have passed since, and we remain linked to each other. However, there is an aspect to this bond which is necessary for proper consummation. Had we been already married, that aspect may have formed.”

“As I am aware,” says Koss’ great-uncle Maval, “you canceled your original marriage date nearly three years ago.”

“Yes,” T’pol replies. “At the time, I was necessary to Enterprise’s mission, and there was no urgency to my bonding with Koss, so I chose to postpone our marriage.”

“A nonetheless illogical decision, as viewed by those around you,” Maval replies.

“I will clarify the logic of my decision during my discussion of diplomacy,” T’pol says.

“Continue your argument,” says Keinar.

“You are aware of my relationship with Hoshi Sato,” T’pol says. “We have conducted it in the human style, in which partners spend increasing amounts of time together. I intended it to be at most an educational diversion. However, in recent weeks I have begun to form a true partner-bond with her, and have felt my partner-bond with Koss correspondingly weaken. He remains unidirectionally bonded to me; however, to consummate our bond, it must be mutual. Thus concludes my argument for efficacy.”

T’pol pauses then, giving the elders a chance to question her points.

“Have you consummated your bond with the human?” asks Svaik. It is a personal question which would embarrass T’pol, but from one of his logic it can only be innocuous.

“I do not believe I have.”

“You are unsure. Explain.”

“We have shared various types of physical intimacy,” T’pol says, grateful it is not a lie, though her words imply more than she could truthfully claim. “But for true consummation, the bond must be mutual. Humans do not have our ability to form such connections, and we do not have means to measure them, so it is impossible to accurately determine the extent of our bond.”

“Very well,” Svaik replies.

T’pol’s own relative on the committee is her mother’s elder cousin, a stout woman named T’pen, who has always been staunch and judgmental. She asks the next question:

“Why would you choose to conduct a relationship in the human style?”

It is asked plainly, without inflection. Such a question is within her rights to ask, but serves only to call T’pol’s character into question.

T’pol steels herself and wishes her canned reply were stronger somehow. “I wished to better understand human social customs. It would hardly have been an educational affair had I kept to Vulcan standards of propriety.”

There is silence, and Keinar says, “The point of efficacy is closed. You will continue with diplomacy.”

T’pol holds her head high. She has no notes to review; if she has not memorized her speech, it is taken as evidence that she does not truly understand it.

“My next argument will be for the diplomatic benefits with United Earth of allowing this relationship to continue. I continue to believe that Enterprise is critical to Earth’s diplomatic development on the galactic stage. Without the actions of Captain Archer and his crew, our own relations with Earth would have broken down, as would our relations with Andoria and possibly Qo’noS.” She pronounces the name of the Klingon homeworld in an approximation of their language — a habit she picked up from Hoshi.

“That is conjecture,” says Keinar.

“It is retracted,” T’pol replies. “It is not conjecture, however, to say that Enterprise played a substantial role in preserving our diplomatic relations with said parties.”

“Your point has been amended.”

“On Enterprise, while my formal role was as chief science officer, my role has also been that of an advisor, a source of logic to balance out the humans’ undisciplined tendencies. They could not have succeeded without my help on countless occasions. I have compiled a list of examples in my written report.” She has been responsible for Enterprise’s success and survival on too many occasions to adequately enumerate in the limited time available.

“Before my assignment to Enterprise, I had a ground posting on Earth, during which Koss and I scheduled our wedding. My assignment to Enterprise disrupted our plans. As Councilor Maval indicated, I canceled our planned marriage three years ago. Leaving Enterprise for the required first year of marriage may well have prevented our current predicament, but it is possible that my absence could have caused irreparable harm to Enterprise’s mission and thus, indirectly, to the diplomatic balance of this sector. That is not a risk I was willing to take. Captain Archer has gained experience and a portion of wisdom since beginning his mission, but he still depends on me.”

T’pen interjects, “It seems you are continually emphasizing your own importance.”

“I am stating facts, nothing more.”

“Facts, or bias? That remains to be seen when we view your evidence later.”

“Your taunt is out of line,” says Keinar.

“It is merely a fact, nothing more.”

“It is a fact presented in a tactless way, whose content is intended to be hurtful. T’pen, refrain from making extraneous commentary in these proceedings.”

For one to completely repress their own emotions, one must completely understand them; this, combined with perfect objectivity, gives Keinar an extremely effective window into the emotions of others. T’pol had not considered that T’pen’s intent was to offend her; instead, she had assumed her own offense to be irrational.

Svaik asks, “Is your involvement in human affairs not a violation of the Noninterference Principle?”

“Perhaps,” T’pol says, “but it is a mission to which I was assigned by those with far greater logic than my own.”

Svaik nods sagely.

“T’pol,” Keinar says, “have you finished arguing for diplomacy?”

“No, I have a further argument.”

“You may present it, and mind the time limit.”

T’pol takes a deep breath. Her next point deals with an aspect of Earth culture with which, like most human courtship traditions, she is wholly unfamiliar. She is fortunate that all other parties know even less of humans than she does.

“Earth culture differs from our own in the symbolic weight given to romantic partnerships. To us, marrying one’s child to an opposing faction may be unthinkable; to humans, it is a traditional way to ensure peace. My own relationship with Hoshi is not yet marriage, but holds a significance in modern human society that marriage had in past centuries. As such, condoning our relationship would emphasize Vulcan’s commitment to our alliance with Earth, and would do so in a way that humans intuitively understand.”

Svaik taps the table to request a pause. “Are you implying that Vulcan and Earth are opposing factions?”

“Not at all. The human tradition of intermarriage was used to guarantee any alliances, regardless of their history. In contrast, there were times marriage was actively discouraged between social groups, typically in cases of unspoken hostility or overt oppression. Any objection to my relationship with Hoshi on the basis of her humanity may thus be interpreted by humans as a declaration of Vulcan superiority: a position for which the humans already suspect us, though we have never made such a claim. _That_ is the extent of my diplomacy argument.”

“You are implying, then, that Earth believes us to be an oppressive force, though we have shown no such inclination. Is that your intent?” Svaik asks.

“I believe, your honor, that we have shown such inclination when viewed through the lens of human values. Our attempts to follow the Noninterference Principle even after First Contact, as you are aware, were seen as a refusal to help humanity, though they do not see that we would have protected them if they had been targeted by outsider species. Our distaste for socializing with humans is seen as a show of superiority, as if we do not wish to be contaminated by them, as if human influence is a wholly negative thing. It is necessary to acknowledge that they do not operate under the same guiding principles as we do.”

“Would you have us live by human tradition?” T’pen demands.

“No. I would only have myself live by it.”

“And you wish to be allowed to?”

Keinar chooses that point to say, “We all know why we are here today. Stating the obvious in a hostile tone is inappropriate. If there is nothing else, let us hear the argument for philosophy.”

“I would like to inquire, before I begin my brief final argument,” says T’pol, “whether I would be subject to such interrogation were I requesting permission to pursue an unplanned bond with another Vulcan.”

Nobody on the council answers the question.

Keinar does, however, say, “That is not a productive question.”

“On the contrary. One thing I have learned from humans is that hypotheticals often carry a great deal of insight. For instance, I have learned that adjudicating councils such as this are typically not called for Vulcans seeking to pursue unplanned bonds.”

“This is an unusual situation, and your unplanned bond is only recently formed, exactly at the time of your husband’s greatest need,” says Maval.

“He is not my husband,” T’pol says. “Not yet, and possibly never.”

“This discussion is finished,” says the junior judge. “We will hear T’pol’s final point, and be aware that time is nearly over.”

“Thank you, your honor. My final point is simple: we claim, as a people, to ascribe to the philosophy of attaining and upholding infinite diversity in infinite combinations. As one of said infinite combinations, it is logical for this philosophy to apply equally to diversity of relationships, in all senses of the word. That is all.”

“If there are no further questions, I will call this council adjourned. We will discuss the matter and inform you of our decision at a later date.”

“Thank you for hearing me,” T’pol says. She would like to say more, but none of it is beneficial to the point she is trying to make, and at this point she is only allowed the ritualistic closing statement. Koss’ fate and her own are to be determined in her absence based on the data she has put forth.

Her robe swishes behind her as she walks out the door into the heat of a desert that no longer feels like home.


	11. No Easy Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their families don’t necessarily approve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘Nibling’ is a gender-neutral equivalent to ‘niece’ and ‘nephew’. I don’t know if it’s a real word. It is now. That’s how linguistics works, trust me.

When Hoshi’s shuttle arrives in Kyoto, it’s only mid-afternoon, but Enterprise goes by UTC, so she feels like it’s the middle of the morning after being awake all night. Her father picks her up from the spaceport and tells her about the past few months as he drives her home, but his voice is so steady that she sleeps most of the trip. When they arrive, she greets her mother, looks around but doesn’t see her teenage sister Makoto — she’s at swim practice, her mother says, which is new — and takes her duffel bag up to her bedroom. She is asleep before her head hits the pillow.

Hoshi wakes up the next morning feeling awful. A hearty breakfast and a cup of coffee help, but she is still bleary and drifting when breakfast is over. Makoto has left for school, and her father leaves to go pick up his eldest son, Hiraku, and his wife and two small children. Mrs. Sato leaves for work, and then the house is empty.

Hoshi is never quite sure what to do with herself when she visits home. It’s easy enough when the house is full and there’s someone to be with, but on her own… it’s been too long since she’s lived here. It isn’t her home anymore. She goes upstairs, digs in her bag for a padd — she recently ditched the Andorian police procedural for an acclaimed Vulcan novel — and curls up in the living room to read.

Her father arrives before long, with her brother, sister in law, and the little ones in tow. Takahiro, five years old, is thrilled to see his grandfather; Mika, the youngest, makes a break for it toward the backyard. Hiraku runs to catch her and sweeps her into his arms. She struggles to get free, but stops complaining when her mother picks her up and hoists her into the air above everyone’s heads.

They head inside and unload their things. The kids get a snack and the adults get some tea.

When Mika starts throwing things onto the floor, Mr. Sato stands up and claps his hands, getting her attention. “There’s some shopping we have to do,” he says. He probably could have gone shopping earlier, on his own, but his wife hates trying to figure out what everyone will like, and he hates making decisions.

“I’ll go with you,” Yua offers. “I’ve got to pick up some things too.”

“I wanna go shopping!” Takahiro says.

Mika quickly joins in with her brother. “Shopping!”

Yua kneels down in front of Mika and holds both her hands. “Do you promise to behave? We can’t go shopping if you go running off again.” Mika grumbles, and Yua adds, “You might get lost and get eaten by a monster!”

“Okaaay,” Mika finally agrees.

“Let’s go then,” Yua says, and begins helping with their shoes.

Hiraku watches them for a moment, then catches Hoshi’s eyes. He asks Yua, “Mind if Hoshi and I stay behind?”

“Sure. Enjoy the quiet while you can,” Yua says, and offers him her cheek for a kiss.

“You looked really beat,” Hiraku explains to Hoshi when the others are gone.

“Nine hours of star lag will do that to you.”

"I bet. While they're out and it's quiet, how about you start recording your new year messages? I got you some cards, and I’ve still got to sign mine.”

Hiraku brings out two stacks of cards. The pile he bought for Hoshi are all international cards with cartoon rabbits and ‘Happy New Year!’ written in different languages. What someone might expect from her, she supposes, and that's perfectly all right. She likes cartoon rabbits well enough, and the notes in different languages are delightful both to her and to the relatives and friends that will be reminded of her.

“Thank you so much for buying them,” Hoshi says. He always buys Hoshi’s cards; all the good ones are usually sold out by the time Enterprise gets within internet range of Earth, and she can’t online shop over the subspace link.

Each of the cards has an area for written messages and a small chip that records and plays back audio. She’s got a long list of people to record messages for, and is briefly grateful she doesn’t have to also send them to half the crew of Enterprise. Hoshi is a third of the way through recording the same greeting and brief life updates again and again with slight variations when she puts the cards down and sighs.

Hiraku’s own stack of cards is the real fun. Each one has a different collage of family photos: a photo of him and Yua and the kids, and a bunch more photos of the kids playing, climbing, reading, making faces. Hoshi looks over to see if there are any new pictures in the collection that she hasn't yet seen.

“Hiro misses you, you know,” Hiraku says.

“I’ve missed him, too,” Hoshi says, and it’s not entirely a lie — seeing her niblings again made her realize that there’s a subtle sort of nostalgia in her heart when she thinks about them — but she also hasn’t thought about them much since Enterprise has been away. Her family isn’t a big part of her life most of the time. Maybe it’s just because Enterprise’s mission has been so all-consuming. “I haven’t seen the kids in too long. How have they been?”

“They’re wonderful,” Hiraku says with a brilliant smile. “Takahiro is getting better at reading, which means he’s taken a fancy to writing stories on the walls. Mika tries to copy him every chance she gets.”

“Sounds like you have your hands full.”

“I do,” Hiraku laughs. “So, Hoshi, what’s new with you? Have you explored the next great discovery?”

“No, not really. Ever since the Xindi business it's been quiet, like the galaxy knows we're still just catching our breath.”

“You sound bored.”

“HQ's sending us in a different direction now, hoping to get some more effective exploration done, but I'm satisfied just… watching notable stellar events and surveying empty star systems. We saw some action last week, and that was enough excitement for a while.”

“What sort of action?”

“Oh, you know, the ship got caught in the crossfire of a planetary people’s revolt.”

“Did the good guys win?”

“We refused to make a trade deal with the planetary government after they called their own people ‘little more than animals’. I hope they’ll all be alright.”

“You couldn’t do more?”

“We don’t interfere in other species’ internal affairs if we have a choice. The Vulcans say it makes things worse in the long term more often than not.” Hoshi scowls.

“Even if it risks making things worse, it’s still the right thing to help however we can.”

“I used to think so, but it’s so easy to mess it up.” Hoshi sighs and leans her head in her hand. “I really don’t know anymore.”

“Are you alright, Hoshi? Do you have someone to talk to out there?”

“I… I’ve got friends. It’s confusing for everyone and there’s no easy answers, but I think I have a handle on it.”

“You should talk to someone who isn’t involved in all that, too, really. I’m here whenever there’s something on your mind.”

“I will,” she says, but she doesn’t really mean it.

Hoshi appreciates it, really she does, but there’s so much she can’t imagine telling him. Everything that happened in the Delphic Expanse doesn’t quite feel real, especially now that the Expanse is gone forever, as if it belonged to a time and place that existed only in her mind.

Hoshi takes a postcard off her pile and starts to write a note on it.

There’s so much she doesn’t feel right telling her brother — so much is classified, and so much of the rest is just too complicated, or personal — but there’s also the other issue, the reason she’s not happy to be home: T’pol. And she certainly can’t even think about talking about that with anyone back on Enterprise.

She isn’t that close with Kuku; they don’t share their inner feelings. But maybe they could.

“I’m seeing someone on Enterprise,” she says. Just like that, the words are simple, and more than that it’s just enough to be the truth. She wonders idly if she can avoid telling anything in this conversation that constitutes a lie.

“Really?” Hiraku puts his pen down. “Congratulations! I didn’t think you were interested in dating. Who is it?”

“I wasn’t,” Hoshi says, turning the card over and over in her hands. “I’m not entirely sure I am now, either. It’s Commander T’pol.”

Hiraku raises his eyebrows and folds his hands on the table. “Why aren’t you sure?”

“The short version of the story is, she needed someone to get a guy to leave her alone.”

“And the long version?”

“I agreed, and I think it’s working.” Hoshi opens her mouth to say more, but checks herself. She doesn’t feel right talking about it with anyone other than T’pol. It’s supposed to be a secret, and besides, _I’m worried I have feelings for my girlfriend_ isn’t a normal thing to say.

“Go on,” Hiraku says.

She already decided to tell her brother. She might as well share the rest.

“Somehow we ended up living together, and I think I might actually like her.”

“How are you going to get out of that?” he asks, frowning.

“I don’t know.”

Hoshi swallows, tries not to think about what it means that she hasn’t even considered protecting herself, what it means that she’s been so easily talked into going along with every one of T’pol’s ideas. She needs to leave T’pol, before her heart gets any more involved than it already is. She needs to start getting over her.

“You should have known better than to get involved with a Vulcan.”

“I know that! You think I don’t know that?”

Hiraku sighs. “Are you at least planning to tell her?”

Hoshi rubs her eyes with the back of her hand. “Kuku, I _can’t_. She wanted my help because she felt pressured by someone’s feelings for her; it wouldn’t be fair if I imposed my feelings on her instead.”

 _I trust you not to do anything untoward_ , T’pol had said, when explaining why she trusted Hoshi to pretend to date her. It was uncomfortably meaningful then, and it’s only worse now. Honoring T’pol’s trust is far more important than whatever feelings Hoshi might have.

“That’s just another reason to break it off. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“I know. I just can’t do it. I have to, I know, but I really don’t want to end it.”

 _I love her_ , she can never say.

Hoshi is upset and exhausted, but she tries to smile anyway when the doorbell rings and the rest of her family flows into the house. She’s behind on recording messages, but she can do that later.

* * *

When T’pol arrives at her house, T’les is kneeling beside a bush that adorns the entrance, tearing weeds out of the soil. In a show of severe displeasure, she does not stand up or turn to face her daughter.

“Your luggage arrived before I ever heard you were coming.”

 _Hello to you too, mother._ “I had important business to attend to,” T’pol says, clasping her hands behind her back and standing straighter in an attempt to be unbothered by her mother’s harshness.

“The hearing to end your relationship with Koss?” T’les asks, voice soft and even.

T’pol bristles at the phrasing, as if she has any relationship with a man who was merely chosen for her as a child. “We don’t have a relationship.”

“No, you save that for humans.” T’les stands up and faces T’pol, brushing her dirty hands on her smock. “It isn’t right by him. He’s a good man.”

“I still don’t wish to marry him.” Merely being a good man isn’t enough. T’pol doubts if it ever will be.

“You’re putting your own wishes first again,” T’les says. “The needs of the many—”

“—outweigh the needs of the few, or the one.” It is a phrase used to teach basic logic to small children. “The last time I checked, Koss was the same number of people as I am.”

“Your actions have repercussions to society that reach far beyond the two of you.”

T’pol feels an unwelcome urge to brazenly retort that she is not a child anymore and does not appreciate being treated like one. After forming her argument for the hearing, she is surer than ever that marrying Koss would be the wrong thing to do. Still her mother insists she knows better than T’pol herself.

“And where is the logic in marrying Koss if I have bonded with another?”

“I don’t think this is about your marriage at all. This is about your affiliation with humans,” T’les says.

She is not entirely wrong. T’pol would never have conceived of this entire scheme had she not been influenced by human ideals. She would have accepted sacrifice and an unsatisfying life as part of the sacrifice innate to Vulcanhood.

“You disapprove of my joining Starfleet.”

“It is an irrational decision.”

“It is not, but I do not wish to repeat my rationale to you. I have already explained it once today.”

“You do not have to. I am your mother.”

“You have not lived my life, nor have you shared it with me in over a decade.”

“It is not difficult to comprehend your predicament.”

 _Do you really think you know what I’ve lived,_ T’pol wants to retort, but it is an irrational impulse. They are rational adults having a rational discussion; it would not do to get angry. Several times today she has had to restrain herself from arguing emotionally. She does not dare imagine the horrors that await if she lets her emotions gain any further foothold.

“I do not want my predicament understood. I want my wishes respected.”

“I am your mother. It is my job to give you advice, which you greatly need right now. You have let your emotions get the best of you.”

T’pol’s throat feels tight. “What would you have me do?”

T’les walks to the door and opens it, following T’pol in. T’les sits on a couch in the living room, and T’pol takes a seat across from her. Her entire body feels as stiff as the wooden bench.

“What’s happened to you, T’pol?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve changed. Your emotions were always close to the surface, but you managed to suppress them.”

“What business is it of yours?”

“I don’t wish to see you suffer for this. You have your entire life ahead of you.”

T’pol doesn’t want to see herself suffer either. She wants a way out. “Tell me, then. What other option do I have?”

“The answers are inside you. If you won’t heed my advice, go spend the remainder of your visit at a logic retreat. Clear your head.”

“You do not wish to see me?”

“Not if you are intent on following a destructive path.”

T’pol is disheartened to shorten her visit, but her mother is right. In any case, the extra time spent in focused meditation will do her good. Perhaps she can use the time figure out why she’s felt so unstable. Perhaps she can find a way to avoid the social friction she can’t seem to stop causing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested break point for binge-readers (if you want to continue, I don't blame you, but stuff's about to start picking up.)


	12. Life’s Greatest Agony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe it really is that simple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I mess up Japanese culture, let me know. I really am trying.
> 
> Thanks to Xariel for discussing Hoshi’s family with me when I started this story two years ago (two whole years! Whoa).

The morning of New Year’s Eve, Hoshi goes for a walk. It is only a few degrees above freezing, and the air is crisp in her lungs.

She walks with no direction in particular, but finds herself following familiar paths. She’s unsure what to do, unsure of herself, needs to get this feeling out from under her skin that recoils at Hiraku’s words. _You should have known better than to get involved with a Vulcan._ Maybe he’s right, maybe she does owe it to everyone involved to end it before she gets even more messed up in her own feelings.

Hoshi notices a familiar structure down a side road, and turns to head toward her old favorite shrine. She used to go here a lot to leave wishes. A little superstition never hurt anyone.

Maybe she should wish that she can break it off easily. She wouldn't even know what to say. What would she tell her? Sorry, I can’t help you anymore because I’ve suddenly developed the urge to make you uncomfortable? Hoshi had promised she’d follow through, and hates to make a liar of herself. Should she wish to break it off easily? Should she wish for courage to come clean? Should she just wish for forgiveness instead?

When she reaches the shrine, she taps her credit chit against the payment box and takes a blank wooden plaque. She stares at the wall of wishes, debating what to say.

She already knows what she really wants.

 _I want my girlfriend to genuinely love me_ , she writes, then presses the plaque to her lips for several seconds before hanging it on a peg.

As she stares at the rows of plaques, each one another person’s hope, Hoshi’s communicator blips. It’s a civilian call, so she can get away with ignoring it, and she does. It blips again, and she hears footsteps thumping on the pavement and turns to see her sister running full tilt toward her.

“Makoto?”

“I knew you’d be here. Nobody was quite sure where you were, but you always come here when you’re worried about something. Come on, we should go home, you have to help with the big cleaning.” She pauses to heave a couple breaths, then smiles to herself. “I remember when you were in high school, you would come here to buy an _ema_ before every exam.”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Hoshi teases, already turning to walk back.

“You would have passed anyway, you dork. You’re kind of a genius, in case you haven’t noticed.” Hoshi rolls her eyes, but Makoto continues, “It was never the same after you left for university. Too quiet.”

Hoshi smiles wistfully at the girl whose life is still only beginning to unfold before her. “You sure you weren’t glad to not have to listen to me practice strange languages anymore?”

“Okay, maybe some of the sounds you made were a little freaky,” Makoto begins, but Hoshi quickly gets an arm around her neck. “Hey! I’m sorry. All the weird noises you made were wonderful, really.”

Hoshi lets her go then, and Makoto laughs.

After her laughter dies and a minute passes in silence, Hoshi tucks her cold hands into her pockets and asks, “Do you know where you’re going to university yet?”

“I haven’t gotten any replies yet, no.”

“You waited until the deadline and still sent some in late, didn’t you? Really, Makoto, your tardiness will be the death of you one day!”

“Hey, I listen to that from Mom all the time! Not you, too.”

Hoshi sighs. “You’re right. You know what you need to do, and you’ll figure it out. You always were a smart kid. Maybe I just polluted your mind by making you listen to too much German.”

“I don’t think so. Then I’d be on time for everything.”

Hoshi laughs. It isn’t quite cold enough for her breath to freeze, but the air feels rich with adventure all the same.

Makoto really will be all right, Hoshi is sure of it. She tends to get scared of projects and put things off, but that’s just her style of doing things. She’ll do well in university, when she can make her schedule work for her, or so Hoshi hopes. She’s got the mind to be brilliant, for sure, she just needs to balance it out with discipline. Maybe Hoshi could write to her with advice on how to find that discipline, but Hoshi dealt with it by joining Starfleet, which might as well have been cheating.

“Oh, hey,” Makoto says, pointing to a stand across the street. “Wanna buy a fortune for 2155?”

“Sure.” They cross the street, and each buy a fortune written on a small scroll. It’s strange to Hoshi, after living so long on a starship where everything must be reused, that single-use paper is so common on Earth.

“Ooh, this says I’ve got bad luck this year, especially with money,” Makoto says, idly folding the piece of paper. “But my career will be okay, so maybe I’ll get into a good school after all.”

Hoshi doesn’t even look at those sections. There’s only one thing on her mind, and her eyes are drawn to that line.

_Your love life holds promise, but you must take risks and make yourself vulnerable to reap its rewards._

It’s generic horoscope-y nonsense, she knows it, but Hoshi was just praying that T’pol would like her back, so what does she have to lose by taking it to heart? She traces that line with her finger, and Makoto smiles mischievously. Hoshi carefully folds the note and tucks it in a pocket as they turn to continue walking home.

“Who are you _taking risks with_ and _making yourself vulnerable_ to?” Makoto asks, and just as Hoshi opens her mouth to answer, she continues, “Oh wow, that’s why you bought an _ema_ , isn’t it?”

Hoshi rolls her eyes, wondering why her sister has to be so attentive. “It’s none of your business.”

“It totally is! If you’re in love, I deserve to know, so I can make them regret it if they hurt you.”

Hoshi looks at the ground in front of her feet. “I’m not, really.”

“Oh, come on, you’re a terrible liar. Who is it?”

Makoto leans into Hoshi, and Hoshi pushes her back. “It’s just one of my coworkers. We went on a couple dates, and I don’t know if it means anything.”

“Oh my god. You’re for real. My sister’s interested in dating after all!”

“Not so loud!”

“My sister’s got a _paaaart-ner_ ,” Makoto sing-songs.

“Not yet! Maybe. I don’t even know how she really feels.”

“She’s dating you, isn’t she?”

“Well, about that…”

“Oh my god, you really have to stop being so insecure. Hoshi, she’s dating you, that means she likes you. That’s all there is to it. If she likes you enough to keep dating you, it means she likes you enough to keep dating you. Are you always like this? Is this why you’re perpetually single?”

Hoshi is sure her face is bright red, but Makoto is, as usual, entirely right. “I just was waiting for the right person. This might be, I don’t know yet, but I don’t think she loves me back, and that’s okay. I want her to be comfortable with the life she’s living, that’s all that matters.”

“Oh, so self-sacrificing.”

They turn the corner onto their street, and Makoto rests a hand on Hoshi’s shoulder. Strange that she’s taller despite being nearly a decade younger.

“Just tell her you want to, like, get married and adopt three cats. Don’t just keep her waiting until she gets bored, then pretend when she dumps you that it’s proof you’re supposed to be single.”

“I really won’t. My fortune said I have to take risks and make myself vulnerable, and I will,” Hoshi says, and starts walking again.

“I’ll be sure to hold you to that.”

“Wouldn’t want anything less,” Hoshi says with a smile as she opens the door to their home.

* * *

The retreat T’pol visits is called a spa because its main feature is mineral hot springs, believed to fortify the body and to aid the troubled mind in finding peace. The heat of the baths contrasts to the cool air of the southern polar region. It snows here in winter; as it is currently spring, the grounds are lush with grasses sprinkled with colorful wildflowers. It is an entirely different beauty than most would associate with Vulcan.

She might like to bring Hoshi here one day, except that she can’t imagine any human voluntarily taking an oath of silence. This is a place of introspection, after all, a retreat from society for Vulcans on the verge of losing their composure. While here, she will dress in plain white robes, eat the simple food provided, take long baths, read the work of important philosophers, and think. Aside from the thinking, it is not an unpleasant itinerary.

Her mother was not wrong; she truly does need to clear her head. The thoughts she has to clear from it, however, are not easy to file away. First, there is the matter of her attempt to break her betrothal. T’les was right; it has nothing to do with any bond with Hoshi, the existence of which T’pol is not willing to fathom. And it does, in fact, have a lot to do with internalizing human individualism.

How selfish was she, to break off her marriage with Koss? There is no reason they could not have established a reciprocal and healthy relationship, aside from her own instinctual, irrational repulsion. That repulsion has haunted her for decades; it is the other side of the expectations placed on her. If she could remove it with any amount of logic or self-repression, she would do anything. She would study the Kolinahr, giving up her dreams of traveling among the stars, if it would purge the tightness in her chest every time she thinks of being his wife.

Despite her best efforts, she has not found any way to make it a palatable fate for herself. And, perhaps because she was so eager to remove the repulsion and preserve her own social standing, she let too much time pass until there is only one last, grasping chance to cancel her wedding.

At least finding an alternate mate for Koss would not be difficult. He would be upset once his head cleared, but he would be able to move past those feelings in a way T’pol never would. If her request is granted, it is for the best; if refused, T’pol will dutifully resign herself to a slow death on Vulcan, where she would spend her nights on the roof, staring at the stars.

That evening, T’pol is on the roof of the retreat complex, staring at the stars, when a messenger brings her a letter. She signs her thanks to the messenger, then unlocks the padd with a biometric scan.

Her argument was deemed sufficient, says the adjudicating council, to subvert the _kali-fi_ and annul her betrothal. The relief she feels at that alone is nearly overwhelming. T’pol is aggravated that, after two days spent diligently in meditation, she is still emotional. Logical detachment is the root of civilization. Her own desires will be her undoing, if she lets them.

She skims through the rest of the document, too giddy with relief to focus. It details their analysis of her argument, which she can examine at a later date. At the end there is a single request: T’pen wishes for an invitation to Hoshi and T’pol’s wedding. The request blunts T’pol’s enthusiasm somewhat. It is one last subtle humiliation — T'pen suspects their bond is not so strong after all.

The truth is, there is a life T’pol wishes to preserve that runs alongside the one she wishes to escape. Her posting on Enterprise will only last a small fraction of her life, and it is likely that she will be discharged from Starfleet upon its termination, but the scientific discovery, the exploration — those are not things she ever wishes to give up. She’ll find a position at a scientific academy in a colony somewhere, where she can involve herself in research, where she can make a difference.

But if she lets her emotions overtake her, she will never have that life. It is logic, clarity of purpose, which allows her to succeed in the sciences. If she is not objective about her personal life, it is impossible for her to be objective in her professional life; and if she is emotionally driven and unaware of her own biases, her scientific findings will be of extremely poor quality.

T’pol clears the contents of the padd and turns it in to the library, so it can be reused for the next person to receive a message. She then returns to her chamber and changes into exercise clothes.

She would quite like to do some friendly _suus mahna_ sparring, but does not have a partner, and perhaps violence is a dangerous way to purge the nervous energy simmering inside her.

She goes for a run instead, around the blossoming courtyard of the compound. She runs until her lungs burn with the cold air and her legs feel weak. She is accustomed to cool air, but the temperature here is below Earth standard room temperature by a significant margin. She is certainly unaccustomed to the higher gravity of her homeworld.

She continues running until it becomes an unbearable effort to put one foot in front of the other, and then she slows to a walk, does another lap of the complex while her body recovers.

Her body is exhausted, but still her mind is not calm. She sits in the dewy grass and attempts to meditate. The exercise helped; instead of anxious excitement, she primarily has guilt to contend with: first, at defying her mother’s wishes; second, at complicating Koss’ life; third, at lying to the council; fourth, at dragging Hoshi into her web of deception. But thankfully, the meditation clears her head enough that she is able to recall the logic she used to make those decisions. At present, she is committed to her course of action, and all she can do is follow it to its conclusion.

Later, she may use her logic to decide which steps to take next; for now, she can be at peace, drive the guilt out of her mind. Her body is exhausted and cold, but she feels comfortably _herself_. She basks in the calm for what, in the moment, feels like a long time.

Her calm is interrupted by a gentle tug at her attention, like a sound at the edge of hearing. She looks around, but she is alone; it is nearly dark, lit only by the dusk of a sun that never fully sets this time of year. 

The tug comes again, and this time she is sure it is from inside herself. She follows it, half expecting to find Koss overwhelmed with grief, pining for her, but instead she finds… Hoshi. Their interactions clearly meant more than T’pol had previously believed, if they would still be in admittedly marginal contact across sixteen light years.

It hits her then, with disconcerting clarity.

 _Hoshi_.

Whether attraction existed between them was never in question; she has found Hoshi’s proportions appealing since the day they met, and had even considered entering outright into a genuine relationship before deciding that the risk of rejection was too high. She admires Hoshi, and that admiration led their early attempts at collaboration to be laced with prejudice. Afraid of her own bias, she had second-guessed Hoshi’s work, assumed her incompetence, patronized her when she was truly only trying to find her way. With the clarity of hindsight, her past behavior was reprehensibly juvenile, and cruel for the wounds it could have wrought on Hoshi’s self-esteem had she not been such a brilliantly competent and likeable person that her successes, both scientific and social, dwarfed the failures T’pol hadn’t intended to accuse her of.

The feelings T’pol has for Hoshi now are not mere sexual attraction, though its presence is undeniable when she remembers the feeling of Hoshi’s lips pressed against hers, so sweet that she’d _ignored_ the fact that such behavior is eminently inappropriate on the bridge, trusting instead in Hoshi’s judgment about human relationships, and letting herself be swept away in what, retrospectively, could not just have been an imitation of the preferred response.

No, instead she feels _bound_ to Hoshi, drawn to her with a force greater than any she is able to resist. It is the other half of the primitive Vulcan nature, this powerful devotion, bordering on need; yet her control is solidly enough in place, now, that she is able to resist it, to repress it to an appropriate place where she can analyze it without being swept in by the tide. It is fortunate that she did not realize this feeling until after clearing her head; had she still been weak-willed and unbalanced, the intensity might have so overwhelmed her that she would have thrown back her head and cried out, willing her voice to travel across sixteen light years of empty space.

It may even have reached Hoshi. That, she would not care to explain.

Surely to a human it would be horrifying, to have one’s mind stripped out of one’s exclusive control. It is horrifying to most Vulcans. T’pol has never wanted it, though she has been part of it several times; it seems to her a great injustice that she should subject Hoshi to it against both their wills.

She owes it to Hoshi, then, to break things off. She can deny the bond, work actively to suppress its influence. It will be slow and difficult, but it is the least she can do to protect the woman she loves from her intrusion. There are no more lies to consider, only the fact that Hoshi’s devotion does not, physically _cannot_ run as deep as hers, and so she must find a way to recover and make her life once again her own.

She knows now, too, what Koss is going through. To love one who cannot love you back is surely one of life’s greatest agonies.


	13. Pitfalls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're closer than ever, and yet farther apart.

On January 2, Enterprise is ready to leave, so Starfleet sends a dedicated shuttle for Hoshi. Takahiro wakes up from his nap to run after the shuttle, and jumps back from the hiss of the landing thrusters. Hoshi stops to grab her packed bag before running out after him.

“Can I ride in the spaceship?” Takahiro asks the shuttle driver.

“Sorry, not today,” says the broad woman piloting the shuttle. “But why don’t you ask your parents? I’m sure Ensign Sato could arrange for you to see her ship one day.”

Hoshi rolls her eyes when the woman winks at her.

“Hiro, why don’t you go back inside, okay?”

“I wanna ride in the spaceship!”

“I’ll see if you can come visit Enterprise next time, how about that?”

The door opens and Hiraku runs out after his son, followed by the rest of Hoshi’s family. Goodbyes are always bittersweet, but it’s so easy to send subspace letters and videos. She’ll see them again soon enough. Then the shuttle pilot is asking Hoshi about her family, and she laughs and tells her how wonderful they all are as they lift into the sky.

Things feel so normal that on Enterprise, Hoshi has to remind herself not to go to her old quarters.

The new ones have been rearranged; now there is a double bed, and to make room, the desk has been moved to the foot of the bed where T’pol’s meditation area was. Hoshi wonders where T’pol will set up to meditate now, but there is a lot of space in their quarters despite the awkward arrangement of hallways.

It’s evening in UTC but nowhere near it in Kyoto, so Hoshi’s mind is fully alert. She stops by sickbay to get a sedative to sleep off the jet lag in time to be awake for main shift tomorrow, and still finds herself lying awake, arms and legs spread out across far too much space for just one person.

When she finally sleeps, she dreams of long fingers slowly tracing shapes on her palm that coalesce into the swirling letters of the Vulcan alphabet, spelling words she has never heard before but that seem to activate something primal in her soul. T’pol’s cool fingertips send shocks into her nervous system with their unbearably light touches. She presses them to her own. Greedy for more, she grasps T’pol’s hand, fingers sliding up her arm, her shoulder, her neck, her jaw. T’pol’s cool hands leave a trail of heat everywhere they touch, until they settle against Hoshi’s temple and the heat spreads through her entire body, leaving her buzzing and hyperaware.

When Hoshi wakes up, she can almost still feel lingering caresses, tingling up her arm. Strange that this, of all things, would be her first dream of the year. It’s beyond her to understand what it means; she’s just glad it wasn’t a nightmare. She feels uneasy, nonetheless.

That evening in her room, she reads what she can find about Vulcan customs, hoping to fill in the gap between her own intuition and T’pol’s behavior. But she’s done this research before, years ago, and knows it’ll tell her that her feelings are as juvenile and uninformed now as they were back then.

Touch is a very personal thing among Vulcans, used to express close intimacy, platonic and romantic. Therein lies one point of comfort: T’pol has never shied away from touching Hoshi. Vulcans make a lot of presumptions where touch is concerned, based on an incomprehensible logic of which Hoshi is entirely uninformed, so Hoshi is cautious about touching her in return, lest she cross some unknown boundary and shatter what seems like a fragile truce.

Despite knowing she is misinterpreting it, Hoshi cannot help the way she responds to T’pol’s touch. Her body remembers T’pol lying next to her, guiding her down from a nightmare. She remembers the reverence with which T’pol held her hand as adrenaline flooded through her veins. It is an act of compassion that she cannot be sure T’pol would have extended to anyone else, whose unprecedented intimacy Hoshi cannot help feeling in her bones.

She also vividly remembers watching T’pol try to hide her distaste after Trip left. Hoshi couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. He really didn’t seem to understand that T’pol could never empathize with him like he hoped. It was like he thought he could crack T’pol’s shell and find someone like him underneath, but she is cut from an entirely different cloth. What Hoshi has seen tells her that the inner T’pol is thoughtful, expressive… and afraid. She must be familiar with fear, to know so much of anxiety and how to tame it; her emotionless façade could very well be a form of protection. Hoshi would only want to offer her a home, somewhere to feel safe. Somewhere she could express herself and be seen as who she is, on her own terms. From where Hoshi is sitting, there is far too much judgment in Vulcan society.

That night, Hoshi dreams of a grey stone castle in a shimmering golden-red desert, where she sits in the highest tower and weaves a tapestry. She wanders through empty hallways, feeling a sense of empty longing. This is her home now and forever. She meets a stranger, formless, faceless, who pulls out a chair and sits opposite her at a long table. No words are spoken between them. but everything is said.

The next evening she sits with the candle T’pol gave her and tries again to sort through her feelings. The unease she feels at being alone in T’pol’s room, the tenderness of her memories, they all blur together in her mind into an impossible hope.

Love, to Hoshi, has always been about paying attention, taking the time to learn all the little things about someone that make them unique and incorporating pieces of them into herself. Her hope to get to know T’pol better has always been a sort of affection. She wants to know her deeply, so that T’pol might do the same in return.

Maybe that’s why she’s been perpetually single, why none of the suitors her parents offered were ever good enough. Her attraction to T’pol is doomed, then. T’pol can’t possibly understand her. They aren’t even the same species; she could never see the world through her eyes.

And even if T’pol could understand her, doesn’t she want more? Shouldn’t her desire for a relationship be determined also by mutual love? T’pol could never love Hoshi in return; love is an emotion, after all. Love is everything in a relationship. Yet when Hoshi thinks of being with T’pol, it doesn’t seem like anything would be missing.

_It is a limbic response, but not an emotional one._

Does the difference matter?

* * *

When T’pol returns, it is a quiet affair. In an act of kindness, Archer gives them both the afternoon off to set up their rearranged quarters. 

“I brought you a gift,” T’pol says halfway through unpacking, and holds a small square object out to Hoshi.

Hoshi takes it and turns it over. It is a device a little larger than her palm, with a multi-setting switch on one edge. One flat side has embossed Vulcan text; the other side has thirty-six square buttons arranged in six rows of six. Each button has a black square on it.

“What is it?”

“A children’s toy. It was mine, once. I thought you might enjoy it.”

Hoshi flips to the side with the embossed text and tries to skim it — she sees the word ‘logic’ a lot. “Okay, but, what is it? How do I use it?”

“You flip this switch on the side to your desired difficulty, and it generates a new set of logical rules.” T’pol flips the switch and turns the device to the buttons, which have now changed colors to a seemingly random assortment. “When you press any square, it changes the colors of itself and adjacent squares. Your goal is to determine the underlying rules and change the color of all squares to black.”

“That sounds really hard.”

“You are proficient at recognizing and interpreting patterns.”

Hoshi presses a red button. It turns blue, two pink squares to its left turn green, and the blue square above it turns red. She presses another button and another set of colors change, seemingly random. “Not like this.”

“Practicing difficult problem solving in a low-stakes environment makes it easier to handle when there is more at stake.”

“Oh.” It had actually been thoughtful. Something to help Hoshi with the source of stress T’pol had seen her struggle with — not that Hoshi wasn’t already far more comfortable with the unexpected than when their mission began. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

“If you need help getting used to it, I’d be willing to solve the puzzle with you.”

“I think I’d like that.” Hoshi slowly smiles, then stands up suddenly. “Oh, I got you something, too. It’s not as nice as your gift, but…” She opens her desk drawer and removes a paper-wrapped rectangle that her mom had insisted she take for T’pol.

“What is it?”

“It’s mochi. Made from rice. It’s a traditional new year’s treat.”

T’pol partly unwraps the paper and turns the rectangle over, as if examining it for some discrepancy. She takes a bite, and chews for a long time.

“It’s sweet,” she eventually says, and takes another bite.

“I’m glad you like it,” Hoshi says, smiling. She picks the logic puzzle back up and reads the text on the back while T’pol eats — it is just instructions for the game. She idly wonders what it means that T’pol explained it rather than telling her to read the instructions. Perhaps T’pol wanted to save her having to read an unfamiliar script, but she should have known Hoshi better than that. Hoshi wouldn’t complain, though, if it meant more talking to her.

When T’pol is finished eating the mochi, she folds the paper, bringing the corners to the center, then repeats the action so that nothing inside could fall out. Hoshi puts the logic puzzle on the desk and holds out a hand; T’pol gives her the paper and she folds up the inner and outer corners to make a sort of water lily, which she hands back to T’pol.

T’pol holds the origami flower with both hands and says, “My marriage has been cancelled,” then turns away to place the flower on the shelf above the bed.

“That’s good news, right?” Hoshi says, daring to move closer.

T’pol turns back from the shelf. “Extremely.”

“I’m glad I could help, then.”

T’pol’s breath catches. “I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you.”

“It’s marriage; it lasts your whole life. You should have a say in the matter.”

T’pol meets Hoshi’s eyes then, and Hoshi feels her throat tighten. She’s right there, close enough to reach out and touch, dark eyes and soft lips and — and she should have a say in the matter.

“I trust our relationship was also useful to you on your visit home?”

“It really doesn’t matter as much to me as it does to you. Everyone was happy for me, but I think I might have preferred if I didn’t tell them.”

“Isn’t their satisfaction a worthwhile result?”

“Not really. I lied to them, and now they’ll be disappointed when they hear we’ve broken up, and offended if they find out the truth.”

“You’re implying they would be more hurt to know that your relationship ended than they would be happy that it happened in the first place.”

“What’s more human than that?”

“It’s irrational. If they want you to find an ideally suited partner, they should be pleased that you ruled out a suboptimal choice.”

“Yeah, probably. What can I say, we're weird about breakups.”

T’pol frowns. “Do you think Commander Tucker would be more likely to pursue me after you and I end our relationship? If what he said is true, he will hopefully respect my boundaries, but that seemed contingent on your presence as my partner.”

“It’s hard to say. Maybe.”

“We should discuss how best to terminate our arrangement, then, to avoid such effects.”

Hoshi has tried to think this through plenty of times and never came up with a good way to broach the topic of breaking up; she certainly didn’t expect T’pol to mention it. Hoshi doesn’t know what to do, except that if she leaves now, T’pol will never take her back.

“I don’t think we should break up,” Hoshi finally says, trying to keep her tone casual but coming off perhaps too flippant. She wonders if T’pol can hear that in her tone, if she can tell that Hoshi’s response is simultaneously calculated and nerve-wracking.

“Why not?”

“If we break up now, we’ve only been visibly together for a couple of weeks. People will take it as a sign that we weren’t really serious about each other, but also as proof that you’re interested in dating among the crew. It might end up worse than before.”

“…I see.” If T’pol could frown, it would be that subtle tension in the muscles of her neck, as if physically restraining herself from speaking.

“We still can break up. If you’re uncomfortable. Tell them I broke your heart and put you off dating forever. It might be less believable, but I know you’re used to living alone, and humans are, well…”

“I would not have you leave,” T’pol says quickly, intensely, then looks away and continues, “without ensuring it is the optimal choice.”

“Good,” Hoshi says, heart racing. “I just moved in here; it would be a shame if I had to move out again so soon.”

T’pol tilts her head slightly as she watches Hoshi, who tries to laugh casually, but all that comes out is a breathy, fluttering sound.

Hoshi is distinctly uncomfortable, but not in a bad way; the game she is playing is exhilarating. Its pitfalls are many and dangerous, but T’pol is beautiful, and she remains a part of Hoshi’s life for the near future, and maybe Hoshi will decide what to do with that — whether to tell her or to save herself — before it really is too late.


	14. Walls We Build Between Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You're scaring me._

_T’pol walks along the edge of a cliff, meticulously putting one foot in front of the other. She turns and sees Hoshi running along a dirt path toward her. T’pol sways as Hoshi stops, a meter away, and holds out her hand._

_T’pol smiles, ever so slightly, and Hoshi is entirely unsure how to process it. She’s drawn to her, and closes the gap until they’re chest to chest, looking into each other’s eyes, breath intermingling. Hoshi touches T’pol’s face, strokes her cheek, full of wonderment, and T’pol leans into her hand, kisses her palm — then takes a step back, off the edge of the cliff._

_Hoshi reaches out to catch her, but she is already falling._

Something shifts in the real world, pulling Hoshi into consciousness. She’s not quite comfortable, still turning over the fear, the height, T’pol’s lips against her palm…

T’pol is straddling her, her forearms pinning Hoshi in place. Hoshi’s eyes fly open and she feels her entire body flush with heat. The blanket must have fallen off, but she doesn’t feel cold at all.

Hoshi’s first thought is that she is still dreaming; her fantasy must have decided to change course to a more pleasant one. She stretches out, tries to move her arm, but T’pol puts more weight on it and murmurs, “Stop,” her voice rough and begging. Then quieter, raspier: “Please.”

Hoshi struggles harder, starting to panic. “What’s going on? Let me go.”

T’pol gives no ground. “You turned over in your sleep, and I…” She hangs her head, breathing heavily.

T’pol’s words are ominous, perhaps more than they ought to be. Hoshi stops fighting and searches her face. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

T’pol’s never acted like this before. Is she sick? Did Hoshi do something wrong while she was asleep? Why wouldn’t she just say so?

“Please, don’t touch me,” T’pol says.

Hoshi licks her lips, swallows to clear her throat. “Why not?”

“It’s for your own safety. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Hoshi smiles nervously. “You’re really scaring me, T’pol.”

“I don’t… I can’t… I’m sorry.” T’pol looks wild and desperate, eyes flickering over Hoshi’s face. When she speaks again her voice is quiet. “Skin contact puts us both in danger.”

 _In danger of what?_ Hoshi is afraid to ask. T’pol seems tense, like a string about to snap, desperately clinging onto _something_ , some tendril of familiarity.

“I won’t touch you,” Hoshi solemnly promises.

Tension drains from T’pol’s face. “Thank you,” she whispers back, then carefully climbs off her and lies on her own side of the bed.

Hoshi scoots away, trying to prove that she means it. They’re stuck living together, and as much as it hurts that T’pol is rejecting her, she wants their shared home to be safe. Has Hoshi given her anything to be afraid of?

Hoshi wants to ask more, but instead she turns to face the wall and listens to the sound of her heartbeat, lets it lull her agitated thoughts, until her tiredness finally overwhelms her.

* * *

T’pol lies awake for several hours. She tries time and again to analyze her own aberrant behavior.

Against all reason, Hoshi is part of her, and physical touch within that bond can transmit far too much. T’pol is afraid of Hoshi discovering her feelings, but worse than that, if they share that touch, T’pol might unwittingly force them on her.

She is, she concludes, terrified of her own potential to lose control around Hoshi. She’d tried to avoid her, then to restrain her gently, but ended up pinning her down. There was nothing inherently salacious about the posture they ended up in, except that it is their shared bed, except that T’pol longs to pin Hoshi just like that in an entirely different battle of wills.

While Hoshi struggled, T’pol could almost think of it as a combat maneuver, but when she resigned herself, looked T’pol in the eye, and promised to do what she wished… T’pol had shown a piece of her violent nature, and Hoshi had given her a show of trust, accepted her lack of explanation gracefully. That was enough to see T’pol undone.

When only two hours remain before her alarm, she decides it is impractical to attempt to fall back asleep. She is agitated, which is no surprise given the tumult of her worries in a sleepless brain. Perhaps a different form of control is in order.

When T’pol climbs out of bed, Hoshi shifts and makes a heart-wrenching noise but thankfully does not awaken. T’pol dresses in casual clothing and leaves for the gym.

Instead of running, she decides to practice a set of _suus mahna_ forms. Moving her body in rhythmic patterns is soothing, a comforting way to reassert control, both immediately over her physical reaction and gradually through the retraining of instinct.

If only her body could be trained to react productively to Hoshi’s presence, the way she could train it to react productively in a fight.

Instead, her body reacted to Hoshi’s presence like she was in a fight. She did not hurt her; she imagines on some level that, if Hoshi were in pain, T’pol would feel her pain more strongly than her own, but in reality she likely wouldn’t know. Hoshi does not know how to actively project her thoughts, and she is far more controlled than the likes of Trip. Hoshi’s emotions do not scream at the surface for anyone to see; instead, they live in a tangle of layers of self-control and confusion and despair.

And remembering the tides and currents of Hoshi’s mind makes T’pol miss her, makes her crave more than air to reach out for her lover — but she is not her lover.

There is nothing to miss, either; she is as close as anyone can be. They share a ship, and a room, and a significant portion of their lives. But it is not closeness that T’pol needs. She needs Hoshi to be hers, needs Hoshi to claim her and take her and entangle with her. What she wants from her is not kind, nor companionate, but vital and agonizing. She wants to trace a finger along Hoshi’s unbroken skin and wonder at its tenderness and fragility, wants to be trapped within her embrace and made to feel, physically and emotionally, her restraint shredded to dust. She wants to be acknowledged, to hear her name shouted like an expletive, or maybe like a prayer.

She needs to be part of her lover, body and soul — but she is not her lover.

T’pol decides to run after all, setting the treadmill’s speed high enough that her legs do not have the option to shake, that her breath does not have the option to waver, that she can no longer think because her body is strained to its limit. It is not sustainable, but it takes the edge off the anguish that gnaws inside T’pol’s mind.

Later, she returns to her quarters and prepares for the workday. She shares pleasantries with Hoshi, but the atmosphere is strained. T’pol regrets the loss of whatever easy congeniality they once shared. But they have argued before, and they will again. Hoshi does not try to impose human standards on T’pol the way many others do; with any luck, she will respect T’pol’s boundaries, and she will never have to know that the reason T’pol does not wish to touch her is that one touch will never be enough.

* * *

Once Enterprise has left the small radius of charted space around Vulcan, they begin exploring uncharted systems. Days pass in routine procedures: scanning a star system, finding nothing of interest, analyzing the data as they continue to the next. Over the next week, Hoshi and T’pol settle into a routine, but the easiness of their cohabitation is forced. Starfleet protocol makes it easy during the day, but at night there is nothing to keep Hoshi’s unease down as T’pol’s candle flickers brighter than ever.

Minshara-class planets are rare enough that they stop to visit each one they find, and on the eighth day they see one on long distance scans.

“Two light years away, at 120 mark 7,” T’pol says from her science station.

“Take us there, Travis. T’pol, is there anything else you can tell us?”

T’pol presses a few buttons, looks at a screen, frowns. “It has a footnote in the Vulcan star charts: _sashasolausu sashila t’v’tosh ka’tur._ An ‘exile colony’ of ‘Vulcans without logic’.”

“We might as well visit them while we’re here. Do you think they’d be open for visitors?”

“They were considered disruptive enough to Vulcan society that they were exiled; it is safe to assume they would not be friendly. However, their technology is almost certainly inferior to ours, so they do not pose a threat.”

“Let’s knock on their door, then. ETA?”

“Four days at warp five,” Travis says.

For the next four days, there is excitement and speculation. Hoshi works with the anthropology department to review and correlate data on all known Vulcan languages and cultures. T’pol gives them access to relevant portions of the Vulcan databases, but she is unavailable to assist with cultural studies. The database does not contain much of use anyway.

Four days pass almost as if they are nothing, and the orange glow of an alien sun becomes brighter in the viewscreen until Hoshi can almost imagine its warmth on her skin. The system has five planets: two inner rocky planets, one of which is unlivably hot, the other on the cool side of habitable, as well as one large orange gas giant with a vast ring system, and two ice giants.

“Bring us in, Mr. Mayweather,” Archer says, leaning forward on his arm. “Hoshi, can you hail the colony?”

“Aye, sir.”

She’s only just sent the standard greeting when T’pol says, “There’s no one there.”

Hoshi keeps listening anyway, but the planet is silent on both subspace and EM frequencies.

“Any evidence of why?”

“There are ruins of at least five large cities, and evidence of several more inhabited regions. All animal life signs are alien and nonhumanoid. There are no signs of environmental damage; by all accounts the planet should be safe to visit.”

“Launch a standard atmospheric probe; let’s see if there’s anything going on that we can’t see from orbit.”

“I suggest we send an away team. It is unsurprising that the colonists killed each other off, but the High Command will be interested to know what became of them.”

“I don’t care what the High Command wants.”

“As explorers and scientists, we also owe it to these people to record their history so it isn’t lost forever.”

Archer taps his armrest. “You know, you’re right. T’pol, Reed, Hoshi, once we’ve got the probe data, you’re on the away mission.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer to stay on the ship,” Reed says. “Some sensor readings have me worried, and there don’t appear to be any humanoids on the surface to cause trouble.”

“Are you really sure it’s safe?” Hoshi asks. It’s not surprising for her to appear worried, but she’s more worried about being alone with T’pol than about the actual security aspect of the mission. She’s looked at the sensor data; there’s no reason to believe the planet isn’t safe.

“He’s right,” T’pol says. “There are abnormal sensor readings around the gas giant in this system. Having the chief security officer stay on the ship is wise.”

“I’ll go with Lieutenant Reed’s assessment then, that a security attachment isn’t necessary. I guess it’s just the two of you after all. Do try to get _some_ work done.”

Hoshi is afraid — not of T’pol, who she knows with a certainty borne of countless firefights would never allow her to come to harm, but she is afraid _for_ T’pol, who is clearly struggling with something immense and impossible. They aren’t particularly distant, but neither has spent a particular amount of time in her quarters, and when they do, either they are asleep, or conversation does not come naturally. It is as if T’pol is under an immense burden that she dare not mention except to warn Hoshi of the threat it poses. She has never given any indication what that threat truly is. So Hoshi lets T’pol call the shots, she continues to do whatever little things she can to put T’pol at ease, and she goes back to sharing meals with Travis. And she misses her.

This mission is the most Hoshi and T’pol will have spoken to each other in a week. Hoshi hopes desperately that it sheds some light on the wall they’ve built between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the last suggested break point, then it's a 10k sprint to the end. Cheers!


	15. A Ruthless People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s just Vulcan nature…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warning** : This chapter references some canon nonconsensual intimacy. There are also some skeletal corpses and discussion of violence and starvation. It’s all on the tame side, but stay safe.
> 
> Thanks to the wonderful Marieke (Feezal) for giving me fantastic archaeology advice that I proceeded to toss out the window and do whatever the hell I want.

“Do you really think these people all killed each other?” Hoshi asks once the shuttlepod door is closed around them, her voice wavering. “Maybe they died to something else.”

T’pol is occupied with the launch procedure, her portion of which demands her entire attention. Gravity fields are challenging to negotiate at the best of times, and she is already highly stressed by being alone with Hoshi — she can smell her, can hear her heartbeat, can feel her curiosity and unease and her gravitational pull filling her senses — so she does not have the faculties to put together an answer right away. Indeed, she does not know _why_ it is true that the colonists killed each other; she only knows that it must be. Her people are brutal without the restraints of pure logic, and now those without logic are dead. It is the only possibility.

Her own violent potential is impossible to deny; she would trap Hoshi like a predator. This is just further evidence that her people are unstable, that any entertainment of her inner emotional self can only end in disaster. She owes it to Hoshi to end their arrangement, to allow her to escape from the specter of fear that has haunted their shared life. She owes it to herself as well, so that she can attain her own logical center that has become harder to find every day since their pretense began. Hoshi makes her unbalanced, unstable, reined in only by habits formed through decades of self-denial that nonetheless would unravel in an instant at the touch of Hoshi’s warm hand.

Perhaps, in questioning Vulcan brutality, Hoshi is trying to rationalize their cohabitation — to deny T’pol’s nature, rather than acknowledge the danger she poses. It is a uniquely human fallacy to prefer favorable scenarios over the most realistic one. Perhaps it is because they are so prone to despair. Perhaps that mindset is how humans enact positive change against insurmountable odds.

“There are things I admire greatly about humanity,” T’pol eventually says. Her eyes burn into Hoshi as if she is only considering one human. “One could say it is human nature to be empathetic, and that is what reins in your species’ tendency for creative violence. Outside of personal relationships, Vulcans have little empathy, and even that is forgotten when a Vulcan allows themselves to feel angry or threatened. We are a ruthless people.”

“I wouldn’t call you ruthless.”

“That is a testament to the influence of Surak’s teachings. We go to great lengths to suppress the volatile aspects of our nature, which in turn allows us to be civilized.”

“The _v’tosh ka’tur_ we met before weren’t ruthless either, and they believed in embracing emotion.”

The _v’tosh ka’tur_ they met before certainly believed in embracing _something_. Tolaris’ mind in hers— his thoughts and desires pressing in against her— his certainty that the end would justify the means— but it never would. She would never, _could_ never want what he wanted.

Hoshi’s ignorance hurts worse than if she had hit T’pol.

“You do not know!” T’pol snaps, immediately regretting raising her voice. She swallows through a lump in her throat. Hoshi could not possibly understand what T’pol had been through because of him.

“What did they do to you?” Hoshi whispers, shock and sympathy dawning on her face.

“I don’t wish to say.”

“It’s okay. Please.”

T’pol _could_ tell her. She could tell her everything. But the memories are already pressing in around her, and only by banishing them can she remain calm and objective and herself — and perhaps it is a matter of vanity that she would prefer Hoshi didn’t know the indignities she was forced to face.

“It is not something I am willing to discuss. Just know that they were not as peaceful as they appeared.”

“Okay. I’m… sorry I assumed.”

T’pol closes her eyes, breathes deeply of the shuttlepod’s stale, metallic air. Tolaris hadn’t accepted her discomfort, pressed her far beyond her boundaries. She is used to humans doing the same, though they thankfully have no such power over her to enforce it. It is a strange mercy that Hoshi, at least, is willing to accept that there are questions T’pol is unable to answer, and answers she is unable to give. Whatever danger T’pol may pose to Hoshi, the kind, caring human poses no danger to her. T’pol is unaccustomed to feeling safe.

A few minutes pass just observing monitors, then Hoshi turns to face T’pol.

“They were still just one group,” Hoshi says. “For all we know, these colonists could have been different.”

“We nearly destroyed our own homeworld with our violent tendencies, and there is no cure other than logical detachment. Attempting to control our violent emotions without repressing them only causes the violence to manifest itself differently,” T’pol explains. “We can’t expect the dissidents to have fared any better. If anything, it is surprising they made it this far after rejecting the fundamentals of civilization.”

“I still don’t believe it. There were times anyone would have said the same about humanity, and we’re certainly not like that anymore.”

“Not believing it doesn’t make it any less true.”

“I guess so,” Hoshi murmurs.

T’pol wishes reality worked the way Hoshi hopes it does. But wishing has no material impact, and revealing how she envies that worldview would only cause Hoshi to continue with her fallacious optimism.

* * *

The shuttle lands in an open plaza near the middle of the sprawling walled city. Buildings of brick and stone alike tower among them, four to six stories tall. Hundreds of thousands of people lived here once.

When Hoshi steps out of the shuttlepod into the chilly air, she quickly zips her away mission jacket and wraps her arms around herself. The sun is too bright in the sky for the wind to be so cold, and both sting Hoshi’s eyes.

Hoshi turns back to look as the door hisses shut behind T’pol. Her foot catches on the edge of a paving stone, and she barely has time to block her fall before she hits the ground.

Her hands are scraped, and her ankle hurts, though it thankfully doesn’t feel sprained or broken. She lies there for a moment, taking stock of her mostly undamaged body, then looks up to see T’pol watching her from a safe distance.

Hoshi sits up, ankle throbbing, and holds her hand out for T’pol to help her to her feet, but T’pol merely glances at it and does not move.

“Could you help me up?”

T’pol had seemed impossibly comfortable with casual physicality before, and Hoshi can’t for the life of her imagine what changed. It isn’t as if Hoshi is asking to hold her hand anymore, nor anything personal at all.

“I’ve told you before, I can’t touch you,” T’pol says.

“Why not?” Hoshi asks, agitation seeping into her voice. She doesn’t want to cross T’pol’s boundaries, but this is driving her crazy. If T’pol’s insistence on keeping her distance were about Hoshi’s emotions or other intimate contact, as Hoshi assumed, helping her up wouldn’t be a problem. Or maybe T’pol doesn’t recognize the difference; perhaps to her a personal touch is no different than a professional one. But that would be entirely ridiculous. Vulcans understand levels of familiarity perfectly well.

“I told you, my people are violent by nature. Being around me puts you in enough danger already.”

“I don’t believe you would hurt me.”

“You don’t know that!” T’pol says, pacing.

Something about T’pol’s words, perhaps the uncharacteristic hint of anger, makes Hoshi’s stomach drop. She wasn’t afraid before — concerned, perhaps — but she is now.

But T’pol has taught her something of fear, too — that it is just one part of the human experience, that it isn’t outside of her control. So she reaches into herself and looks for courage instead, to face up to T’pol, to break this suffocating shell they’ve built between them.

T’pol must be more afraid than she is, but Hoshi knows that fear is unfounded — she has known her tenderness, her steadfastness in the face of danger, her refusal to betray herself even when she’s hanging onto sanity by a thread. Hoshi pushes herself off the ground, hands stinging, ankle protesting, and stands in front of T’pol, close enough that if she swayed they might touch.

“You’ve lost control before, haven’t you? And you’ve never hurt anyone.”

“I _have_.”

“Who? Who have you hurt by being yourself?”

T’pol recoils. “You don’t know everything I’ve done. Perhaps one day I will _tell_ you, and you will wonder that you ever tried to convince me I was innocent.”

“That’s not what I’ve seen. You’ve lost control before — on Archer IV, on the Seleya, on the Loque’eque homeworld — and you kept it together enough to look out for the rest of us.”

“I didn’t. You don’t have the complete—”

Their communicators buzz, and Hoshi is reminded that they are on this planet to get a mission done, not to hash out issues with their relationship.

In one smooth motion, T’pol slides the communicator out of her pocket and flips it open. “T’pol,” she says, voice back to its normal controlled pitch. It is amazing that she’s able to go from such an openly emotional display to subdued and controlled in such a short time.

Hoshi is surprised to realize that T’pol _was_ being emotional with her, letting Hoshi see her frustration. Perhaps she is angry with Hoshi’s unprofessional behavior — first asking for unneeded help, then demanding an explanation. Perhaps she was warning of that frustration boiling over into rage.

Archer’s staticky voice comes over the comm. “We’re picking up what sounds like a distress call, but the gas giant in this system is scrambling the signal. Will you two be alright while we go check it out?”

“We’ll be fine,” T’pol says. Hoshi isn’t so sure about that, but to say so would be out of line.

“Good. You should still be able to hail us with the shuttlepod’s systems if there’s an emergency.”

“Acknowledged,” T’pol says. She closes the channel and puts the communicator back in her pocket. “Now, ensign, if you’re done educating me about myself, we should begin our survey,” T’pol says to Hoshi. It is the first time she has called her by her rank since their relationship changed. It seems formality is to be the rule of the day after all.

“I’m sorry,” Hoshi says, unprofessional though it might be. “I shouldn’t have started an argument now.”

“You shouldn’t have,” T’pol acknowledges, checking her scanner. “Initial scans showed relatively recent habitation 250 meters to the northeast; we should begin our investigation there.”

Hoshi falls into step beside her. “How recent is recent?”

“One thousand two-hundred years ago. It is the most recent evidence of habitation we were able to discern from orbit.”

Hoshi jogs her memory, does the math. “They would have been here for about four hundred years at that point.”

“This city would have stood for four hundred years. It is entirely possible the colony was formed earlier still.”

They walk in silence, steps echoing around them as the wind whistles between buildings.

“It’s strange,” Hoshi says, just to break the silence. “There’s no signs of disaster, no battle, nothing. Do you think it was some sort of natural catastrophe?”

“Look in a window. These buildings were cleaned out. Most likely the inhabitants had time to evacuate their homes.”

“They knew they were in danger and still didn’t survive.”

T’pol kneels down and examines a sapling squeezing its way up between paving stones.

“This is a Vulcan plant.”

“Not surprising. The colonists would have brought plants for cultivation.”

“This world has edible native flora, so the colonists should have cultivated that instead. Even before Surak, we knew better than to carelessly play with a planet’s ecosphere.”

“Maybe there was something wrong with the native plants.”

T’pol stands up. “It is a possibility,” she says, and begins walking again.

Half a block later, Hoshi signals for T’pol to stop.

The alley to their left is scattered with bones. Hoshi takes out her scanner.

Genetic traces indicate the bones belonged to at least three people, though there are not three whole skeletons on the ground before them. All three are related — two parents and their child, though the ages can’t possibly be correct. The youngest remains were roughly twenty standard years old at time of death, while the parents would be only about sixty. Having children at forty is not unheard of among Vulcans, but it is young enough to be unusual.

The skeletons are clearly not the bones of healthy people. The bone density is dangerously low, and what bones remain are shattered in places. Other signs of cellular metabolism are aberrant or near nonexistent. These people, while they lived, were severely malnourished.

They were approximately contemporary to the settlement Hoshi and T’pol are going to visit, so it is reasonable to assume the survivors within the city did not have adequate food, and yet chose to remain within the city rather than live as hunter-gatherers in the forest. Curious.

One possibility is simply that, outside of the everlasting stone of the city, evidence of hunter-gatherers is nowhere to be found, that whatever signs they left behind have decayed in the past millennium without rocks and roof to protect them.

Another possibility is indicated by the trauma to the remains. The bones have claw and teeth marks on them, indicating they were eaten by a predator that may also have killed them. It must have been a large animal, judging by the size of the teeth marks, with claws sharp enough to gouge channels into bone. The city walls may have kept the predators out — until they didn’t.

“Let’s keep going,” T’pol says, watching Hoshi’s horrified face look up from her scanner.

Two blocks later, they find the first hints that this city was more than a ghost town.

Windows on this block have been barricaded shut, but the doors are easily opened. Inside the open first floor of a tall building, T’pol finds rows of tents, their fabric decaying but structure intact. It smells like must and rot and decay.

Hoshi goes ahead and enters a tent, where she finds a skeleton on a flat simple bed, surrounded by small items: a box, a wooden comb, a lantern, a partly shattered hand mirror. Inside the box are clothes, relatively well-preserved. T’pol joins her and they catalogue a few of the items, but their temporal signatures do not match — the mirror is at least 150 years older than the remains; the comb only slightly less.

“These people had a fairly advanced civilization,” Hoshi says. “They were able to make mirrors like this, but they somehow ended up in blocked-off buildings where they couldn’t even see the sun.”

An adjacent tent is much the same, though there is no body inside. The artifacts are old, and have tens or hundreds of genetic signatures on them.

The next row of tents is surprising still — rather than being separate, like the previous ones, there are two long tents, with a row of beds inside each. Many of these beds are larger, and some have the clear belongings of multiple people beside them. Vulcans do not share rooms, let alone beds. It is impossible to coexist peacefully under such conditions.

Beyond the row of tents is a central area, with concentric circles of stone that appear to be a firepit surrounded by benches, tables, and chests. Many chests appear to be full of gardening equipment; others, bows or spears or bricklaying tools. The pieces of equipment have no distinguishing characteristics and are all stored in a common area. It seems the only things that were individual were clothes and trinkets.

Even food storage was shared, despite obvious ongoing famine. This strikes T’pol as strange — it would be more logical _and_ more emotionally salient to reduce the population in the case of starvation. The Vulcan survival instinct is inextricable from the instinct to kill. Yet somehow, without logic or morality to guide them, these Vulcans were able to suppress that urge and find some sort of alliance. Community, even.

It is impossible — and yet it happened.


	16. The End of Emotion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> T’pol finds a journal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warning** : This chapter contains starvation, violence, injury and blood.
> 
> Is it really Star Trek if there's no heavy-handed social issues?

In the back of the chamber, past the tents, T’pol finds a closed door. Scans show a small, blocked-off room inside. When she opens it, she immediately calls Hoshi to join her.

The room in front of them is crammed full of stacked books, so densely packed there is only a small area by the door to stand in. The titles are in a stylized traditional Vulcan script, and the piles in front appear to be about history and philosophy.

“This building was a library,” Hoshi remarks. “I should probably sort through these and see if there’s anything worth taking back with us.”

T’pol can make out the titles, but the script is heavily stylized, different enough from what she knows to pose a challenge. “I’ll start on the building across from this one,” she offers. She is unable to help yet not quite willing to leave.

“Sounds good. I’ll have a preliminary look through these and then catch up with you.”

Hoshi picks up the first book, runs her scanner over it, turns it over, moves it onto another pile. Her hair shifts, a loose strand falling over her face. She picks up the next book and flips it open to an inner page, already lost in the world inside, clever eyes darting over the text as she absentmindedly tucks her hair behind her ear. T’pol’s heart skips a beat, begging her to stay at Hoshi’s side, so she drags herself away.

The building across the street is a brick townhouse, three stories tall. The unit T’pol enters looks lived-in. The windows on the first two floors are barricaded. It clearly was meant for a single family, and much of the furniture reflects an earlier, more prosperous time period. She surveys the first and second floor and finds effects comparable to what they’ve already seen — beds and bowls and belongings, used hundreds of years after they were made.

The third floor is different, though. A stair has rotted out, so T’pol jumps over it. The doors to rooms are locked.

She’s able to pick the locks with a pin and her scanner. One room appears to be storage. Another is a bedroom with a partially collapsed roof. The third, however, is something else — there is a desk and a row of bookshelves along one wall; on the opposite wall, under a row of windows, is a long table covered in glass bottles full of liquids and powders and seeds, pots of dirt, and various tools: hoes and clippers, magnifying glasses and a microscope, beakers and burners. This room was used for growing plants, and it was a laboratory.

Some of the seeds are still alive, though they date back 1700 years. Clearly, whoever lived here had access to the seed catalogues from one of the original colony ships. And it appears they were growing them, studying them, about 150 years before the inhabitants of the tents.

T’pol looks over the bookshelf — there are volumes on all types of chemistry, Vulcan and native botany, as well as a set of philosophical volumes that look oddly familiar. She scans them, but they largely seem to be informational text that predates the laboratory’s activities by around 27 years.

She checks the desk, instead. On it, there is an oil lamp, a stone cup, the partly disintegrated remains of a quill — and a book, smudged with inky fingerprints and heavily worn. The book on the table is of lower quality than those on the shelves, but its cover suggests it may hold a proper explanation to what T’pol is seeing:

Journal of  
Nova T’pidek  
4.7.298 — [ _empty space_ ]  
Botanical Studies

The text inside is in a similar dialect to what T’pol noticed in the library and on the bookshelves, but the script is closer to Golic Vulcan, so T’pol is able to read it without difficulty.

She opens the front cover to find the author’s own introduction, blotchy in places, handwriting alternately meticulous and frantic. Entire sentences are blacked out; others are underlined or marked. It is clear she wrote this over several days, taking places in areas to find the right words, and came back to it many times later.

> For over a century, better chemists that I have warned this time would come. The air has become toxic; we have made our own world unlivable through the fires of industry that have also sustained us. Our home is warmer than that of my grandparents’, so warm that beasts from the South now roam outside our cities. The farmland that sustains us is no longer safe; even with our best weapons, still the beasts kill. The only safety is within the city, but it is no safety at all. Here, parents kill their infant children to spare them death by starvation. All around me is death.
> 
> Scientists say there is little we can yet do except to cease the fires that keep us alive, and even that will not be enough. There were panels, meetings of whatever brilliant minds have not yet succumbed to hunger, who decided that we cannot plant the seeds our ancestors gave us, even though they may be able to clean the air. They speak of our responsibility to maintain the purity of the world we inhabit, but what of that purity is left now that we have rendered it unlivable? We have made the air unbreathable, yet refuse to allow plants to grow? It is madness!
> 
> Our forebears came to this place to allow ourselves a chance to grow in the face of a society that demanded we tear off half our spirits for the sake of survival. We have always been at a disadvantage, struggling against forces that conspire against our way of life. But we are whole, ever are we whole, and we are at peace. Is it any worse to challenge an ecology that despises our lives than to challenge a leader that does so?
> 
> Clearly, the panel’s decisions are wholly unethical. I must fix it. I must give our future generations a chance to survive.

After reading the first page, T’pol nearly slams the book shut, disturbed by the imagery in it. These people were not illogical, were not monsters, but they were incredibly desperate.

That would explain the apparently Vulcan plant she discovered earlier. The citizens of the planet did attempt to implement the noninterference protocol, and a ruler was willing to do so at the cost of their survival, despite the harm they had already wrought on the planet’s native biosphere.

T’pol skips forward, past pages of mathematical figuring and diagrams and charts, until she finds another commentary that might give some explanation to what she is reading —

> Our leader has decided that some form of logic must inform our survival against impossible odds. He has begun the construction of gardens within the city walls. Squares, rooftops, even levels with sufficient windows to grow shaded plants are being repurposed to provide us essential food, but it will not be enough. So he has also declared that the population must be controlled to what those within the city limits are able to sustain. There are regulations now on childbirth. Food distribution is prioritized to those who are young or healthy or essential. I am only a farmer now; they do not know that my studies of botany have continued in secret.
> 
> Our forebears’ plants are not growing well; they seem to crave some element absent in this world’s soil. I have begun a new series of experiments, hoping to cross-breed them with native plants, and it has begun to show promising results. If this does not work, nothing will have been lost; if we die to this planet’s hostility, there will be no one left to know we violated its purity. But if we survive, if these vines are able to clean and cool the air again, if the trees bear fruit that our children can eat to contentment, then any effort will have been worthwhile.

The leader’s policies continue to be eminently logical. He is arguing for what logic and intuition both know to be true. Perhaps the people were unable to tolerate his demands of them, and fought a civil war. That seems inconsistent with what T’pol has seen, however. She is likewise disturbed by T’pidek’s ongoing attempts to cultivate Vulcan plants on a clearly unfitting world.

T’pol flips forward through the leaves, through more than two years’ worth of scientific notes, maps of the locations of illegal plants, diagrams of their growth, pressed leaves and flowers, increasingly agitated stories of the author’s hell unfolding around her.

> Our new leader’s policies have been very unpopular. The gardens, many say, are a solution anyone could have come up with, but the oppression is horrific. Children are being slaughtered by their leaders whose job is to protect them. Men denied the chance to procreate are dying of _pon farr_. My own husband died of such earlier this year, leaving our little boy without a parent, and now our leader insists that my family is unviable and no longer has a right to adequate food.
> 
> Thousands of others are angry as well. Our first responsibility is to each other. He cannot kill us all.

The journal ends there, with a heart-stopping finality to T’pidek’s words.

But knowing what T’pol saw in the tents — the last generation of survivors on this planet were growing food, and sharing their tools, and sharing food equally despite the insufficiency of it all — she is certain that T’pidek’s revolt won, and stuck.

_Our first responsibility is to each other._

T’pidek’s is not a Vulcan attitude. ‘The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one’ does not extend to cases where the options are between the needs of the few and the equitable death of the many. Compassion on such a scale would be not only illogical but wholly unethical.

And yet these primitive Vulcans, who denied logic to embrace emotion, continued to care for each other as they died, on a world made inhospitable through their own lack of foresight. Their illogic likely killed them — not through violence, but through a compassionate refusal to let some die so others may live.

Can she really say, then, that her nature is inevitably violent? Logic saved Vulcan from the aftermath of their own wars, when children died of radiation poisoning by the millions. But those wars arose from a drastically different context than T’pidek’s, and a drastically different context than her own.

If these were her own people, what does this say about T’pol’s ability to maintain her principles under duress? Hoshi’s argument earlier was unwelcome, but it was not wrong — T’pol has, on multiple occasions, maintained her own principles under conditions that stripped her logic away and dredged her hateful emotions to the surface.

Her feelings for Hoshi are violent — she cannot think of another word to describe the intense focus that overtakes her, makes her twitch with the instinct to pounce, to claim her as her own, to become part of her. To fight the entire world, whatever would keep her from her. It is a cruel nature that makes T’pol suffer so, but she cannot escape Hoshi’s companionship without telling her all the horrible things she might do, so instead she must rely on logical repression and self-control — though those have failed her recently, too.

T’pol has been staring at the last page of the book for several minutes when she is jolted back to reality by a piercing scream. A half second after she hears it, she feels Hoshi’s fear hit her, and her instinct to fight overwhelms her. She closes the book, scrambles to the lab bench, smashes a window open with a pair of clippers, and jumps out, jolting when she hits the ground, dropping into a squat.

Hoshi is in the door of the opposite building, watching in mute horror as a creature, covered in dark scales and armored plates, slightly smaller than a _sehlat,_ turns away from her to face T’pol.

T’pol is Vulcan, and as such she stands a better chance of surviving the encounter — she is stronger, faster, more resilient than a typical human. And the only thing she can imagine is channeling every ounce of strength and ability she has into protecting Hoshi.

The beast stares at her, its eyes twitching but its body perfectly still, waiting for the opportunity to strike. T’pol’s phase pistol is at her waist, but she stays perfectly still, calculating her chances.

Hoshi’s arm moves to her own pistol, and before the beast can turn to face the woman who owns T’pol’s heart, T’pol’s phase pistol is out and firing.

The beast, unbothered by the phaser fire, pounces at her with incredible speed. T’pol rolls to one side, dodges attack after attack. The beast’s pace eventually slows, as if it is waiting for a slip-up, and that is her moment. She brings her hands together, changes the setting on her phase pistol to ‘kill’—

The beast’s claws slice through her left shoulder from behind.

T’pol falls to her knees, overwhelmed by pain. She had forgotten that this very creature was able to kill off her own people _en masse_. Her strength and agility are insufficient here, and now she is about to die, unable to protect Hoshi after all.

The beast bares its teeth, preparing to go for the kill. T’pol awaits the end.

The sound of a phase pistol firing. A wave of relief washes over her, though whose relief it is, she cannot tell.

Hoshi is shooting the monster again, again, then she is at T’pol’s side, still not daring to touch her. The rule against touching is inconsequential. T’pol would have the entire world know that Hoshi is hers, that she would fight worse odds to protect her from harm.

“Come on, let’s get you back to the shuttlepod.” Hoshi’s voice shakes. She shouldn’t have to be afraid.

Hoshi’s left arm is around T’pol’s waist, pulling her up.

T’pol’s undamaged right arm over Hoshi’s shoulders.

She is warm — does she know she is so warm?

T’pol is chilled, the ground spinning beneath her.

She is being illogical.

Cannot control her body’s damage, but can control her thoughts.

Step after step. Tense silence. The shuttlepod was not so far away when they landed.

T’pol analyzes her body with each step. She has lost a fair amount of blood; the creature may have severed an artery, but her knowledge of anatomy is rather foggy at the moment. She has made it this far without losing consciousness, and no internal organs are damaged. She will require medical care, but it is unlikely she will die.

Hoshi is strong, stronger than T’pol imagined. Maybe she would be strong enough to carry the weight of T’pol’s feelings, as well. It would certainly be favorable to share the burden.

When they reach the shuttlepod, Hoshi helps T’pol down to her knees so she can open the door, and T’pol crawls in. After the strain of walking, it is an unbearable relief to lie on her side, and T’pol relishes it as she searches for her center, for the state of mind that will accelerate her body’s recovery.


	17. Heartbeat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hoshi tends to T'pol's injury.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warning** : This chapter contains dissociation & depictions of a serious injury. I tried to keep it mild.
> 
> 25 degrees Celsius is about 77 degrees Fahrenheit. Standard room temperature is about 20C (68F). Now the Americans in the room don’t have to look it up. 
> 
> I was informed after I’d written this that my understanding of Vulcan telepathy (especially in the absence of mind melds) may have been flawed so, whoops. That’s hardly the least accurate thing in this story, and canon is a hodgepodge anyway.

When Hoshi closes the shuttlepod door behind her, the adrenaline begins to drain from her body.

First things first, T’pol’s chances will most likely be better as soon as she can dress the wound and stop the bleeding.

“Hey,” Hoshi says, kneeling on the floor next to the bunk. T’pol is lying on her side, facing away, injured shoulder in the perfect position to clean.

T’pol hums, and Hoshi takes it as an acknowledgement.

“I’m going to clean and dress your wound, okay? First we have to remove your uniform — can you unzip it, or shall I?”

T’pol doesn’t answer. If she’s lost consciousness, that’s not a good sign. So Hoshi touches her waist and shakes her slightly, trying to get a response.

“Cold,” T’pol says. “Leave me alone.”

Hoshi bristles at that. She doesn’t want to be the person who says _no, I can’t leave you alone even though you asked me to_ , but she really can’t leave her.

“I need to treat your wound. I’m sorry. I won’t let you die.”

“ _Cold,_ ” T’pol repeats, and it that’s what she needs then Hoshi will do her best to help her. She opens the drawer with the bedding in it.

“If I raise the temperature in here, say, five degrees, and get you a blanket, can I take your uniform off your shoulder?”

“If you must,” T’pol mumbles.

Hoshi is already pulling a blanket over her legs and waist. She tucks it in for no reason other than that she doesn’t want T’pol to suffer another moment, then hurries to adjust the thermostat. Back at T’pol’s side, she reaches for the zipper between her collarbones, but T’pol covers it with her good hand, then unzips it to the waist herself.

“You know I’ll have to touch you to clean your shoulder?” Hoshi says.

T’pol looks up as if she is seeing her for the first time. “Okay,” she says.

Hoshi feels a weight settle in her stomach. “You’re sure?”

“I trust you’ll be careful.”

Hoshi grabs the front corner of T’pol’s uniform, knuckles brushing against her undershirt against her sternum, and peels it back, delicately holding the injured shoulder to minimize pain as she pulls the uniform down just past the end of the wound. She hovers her fingers over T’pol’s neck, still unsure about unbuttoning her black shirt, which means touching her skin.

The shuttlepod jolts, and Hoshi nearly falls over.

“I’ll unbutton my shirt,” T’pol says, “while you get us off this planet.”

The shuttlepod shakes again, and Hoshi sees teeth bared outside the front viewport as she climbs into the pilot’s seat. She takes a deep breath, tries to keep herself from panicking as she engages the thrusters. Their _hiss_ , and the burning plasma shot out of them, seems to disturb the creatures enough to pause their assault on the ship, and as the pod slowly rises off the ground Hoshi whispers under her breath, _let us go, let us go, let us go._

There is one last _thunk_ , a violent shudder, and then they are free.

Hoshi is sure to contact Enterprise while the pod rises through the atmosphere, but they don’t respond, and then her hands are full navigating atmospheric currents and trying not to worry about T’pol.

Minutes pass. As Hoshi performs piloting maneuvers, the cabin gradually heats up. It would be comfortably balmy at 25 degrees if the layers of her uniform weren’t so warm. Hoshi undoes two buttons at her neck, and hopes it’s warm enough for T’pol. If she’s so cold because of blood loss, it’s not a good sign. She tries to listen to the sound of T’pol’s breathing, but it is so slow and quiet that she cannot be sure T’pol is there behind her at all.

Once they are comfortably clear of the planet’s gravity well and the shuttle is on autopilot toward the gas giant, Hoshi picks up the first aid kit and rushes back to T’pol’s side. Her shirt is unbuttoned now, so Hoshi is able to pull it out of the way, but it doesn’t want to separate from her skin. The sleeve is soaked with blood, the green staining Hoshi’s hands, so she retrieves the scissors from the first-aid kit and carefully cuts the shirt. It’s slashed through anyway, damaged beyond repair.

When Hoshi’s fingers brush T’pol’s bare skin, she feels something spark through her, a jolt that settles in her chest, makes the world around her a little sharper, more focused. She sees T’pol in higher definition, every plane and line of her, every drop of pain and regret. The wound is not deadly. It can’t be. She cannot stand how much she wants T’pol to be okay.

Hoshi takes out the bottle of antiseptic and begins to apply it over the torn fabric stuck to her shoulder. T’pol is perfectly still, even though the cleaning process must sting something awful. Hoshi would have expected a flinch, or a sharp intake of breath. But of course T’pol would be entirely logically detached, above the pain. Unless…

Hoshi is unable to tell whether T’pol is breathing. A hand on her chest, slightly to the left, finds no heartbeat, and Hoshi starts to panic.

“T’pol,” Hoshi says softly. Then, louder, “T’pol! Wake up!”

She puts a hand on T'pol’s waist and is about to begin shaking her when T’pol makes a hissing noise, and Hoshi is suddenly drawn inside herself, the world not blurring but going out of focus no matter how much she tries to fight the strange sensation, like the shuttlepod exists around her whether she is part of it or not and what’s in her head is drawing her under—

 _I would prefer if you didn’t make me speak aloud,_ T’pol’s voice says, echoing off the inside of Hoshi’s skull. She feels some sort of presence in her head, trying to make room for itself.

Hoshi drops the bottle of antiseptic as she falls to her knees, looking at T’pol in mute horror.

She remembers a comment Phlox made, how it’s healthy for Denobulans to hallucinate in times of stress. It’s a shame she isn’t a Denobulan. She’s just going crazy in a totally _un_ healthy, human way. Maybe she’s been drugged, or maybe she hit her head without noticing and now she’s dying too.

 _It is normal_ , T’pol’s voice says, _for bonded Vulcans to be able to speak like this._

Bonded. Hoshi’s never considered such a thing before. She knows there is a special connection between Vulcan couples and close friends, but couldn’t have imagined it is telepathic. If her mind is making this up, her imagination must be in overdrive and then some. Even if what her hallucination says is true, Hoshi isn’t Vulcan. It is impossible for her to be part of any such bond.

 _You’re not real,_ Hoshi tries to scream back without saying a word, like she’s screaming underwater. _I want to talk to T’pol._

Somewhere in the distance, wherever reality went, Hoshi hears a noise. Several seconds pass before she recognizes it as T’pol’s voice, saying, “It’s real. We’re bonded.” Hoshi instantly understands why T’pol did not want to talk — her voice is coarse, strained. She must be in an immense amount of pain.

Hoshi leans forward and reaches for T’pol’s good hand, gripping it tightly, like a lifeline. The moment their skin touches, the world snaps sharply back into focus, and Hoshi fights a wave of nausea.

T’pol’s thumb strokes the side of Hoshi’s finger, a gesture she can somehow tell is meant as a form of reassurance. _I apologize,_ T’pol says. _This is not natural to you._

Understatement of the year. Hoshi is still not sure that this isn’t an increasingly elaborate hallucination. She’s not sure she’ll believe anything T’pol tells her unless she can hear it with her ears, see it with her eyes, touch it with her hands.

But she could almost identify the presence in her mind, now that she knows it to be T’pol using… some form of telepathy?

She can feel that same presence now, as if it is floating in front of her fingertips, and it is beautiful. Buried fear and hope, practiced discipline, a fraying patchwork of staunch control, the strong pull of habit — and another, stronger pull, something so powerful and visceral it is a wonder T’pol was able to control it at all. When Hoshi looks into that abyss, she finds that its eyes are trained on her.

She draws her hand away, breathing heavily. There’s no making sense of any of this. Even if it is real, it is thoroughly beyond the limits of human comprehension.

She hears T’pol’s breathing slow and fade again, and tries to remember her basic first aid course. Not breathing is a bad sign, but if she can keep T’pol awake…

“Come on, T’pol, you can’t go to sleep, not now,” Hoshi says, under her breath but she knows T’pol will hear her. She touches T’pol’s hand again, holding it in both of hers, and sends a message over that medium, too. _Stay with me._

 _I must return to my healing trance_ , T’pol says, with an undertone of exasperation that quickly turns to shame. _I regret that you would worry so, but it is an important part of the healing process._

 _How will I know you’re still alive?_ Hoshi asks. Clearly, if T’pol can read her mind, there is no sense trying to bury her insecurities.

_The medical scanner in the first aid kit can—_

_No._ If Hoshi’s mind is betraying her then surely a medical scanner’s readings could lie as well. _I need to feel it for myself._

 _Here,_ T’pol tells her, guiding Hoshi’s hand gently with her own. _You can check my pulse here_.

When Hoshi touches T’pol’s stomach — no, presses it firmly — she feels a light, fluttery pulse, worryingly fast. T’pol reassures her it is normal for her species. It is undeniably real.

 _One more thing_ , Hoshi asks, _before you go_.

 _I am not leaving,_ T’pol replies with clear amusement, _but you may ask._

_This bond, what does it mean?_

T’pol hears her message, and spends a long moment thinking, her thoughts somewhere below the surface where Hoshi does not know how to find them — and would not, even if she could, as they belong to T’pol alone.

 _Bandage the wound and let me rest,_ T’pol finally says, tired beyond belief. Her injury has taken so much out of her.

Hoshi takes her hand out of T’pol’s and returns to dressing the wound. The antiseptic has had time to soak, and now the tattered fabric can be peeled off her skin without difficulty. Hoshi cleans the wound thoroughly and tapes on a tight bandage, puts the first aid supplies back in the kit, and leans over T’pol again, watching her face. She has never seen looked so peaceful.

Hoshi is more inclined than not to believe her about the bond. Vulcans have done fantastic things with their mental control, and even a typical Starfleet doctor knows next to nothing about them, despite their species having known each other for nearly a century. Is it really outside of the realm of possibility for them to have some sort of telepathic bonding ability?

When T’pol spoke to her at first it had made her dizzy, like she was losing her grip on reality. But when they had skin contact that effect went away, and their connection was so clear that Hoshi could nearly access it herself. That would explain why T’pol had wanted Hoshi to avoid her, too, if she didn’t want Hoshi to know.

Such Vulcan bonds are known to happen between close friends as well as couples, so there is no shame in being tied together. Hoshi would be honored if T’pol had told her about this, as she was when T’pol said she believed they have compatibility — is this what T’pol had meant at the time? If T’pol trusts her, considers her a close enough friend to be linked to her like this…

But T’pol’s resting face is angelic, and Hoshi is absolutely certain their bond has nothing to do with friendship.

Why would T’pol lie about her feelings in such a way? Hoshi would have given anything to know if her own feelings were requited.

The console beeps, a warning that its autopilot is nearing the limit of its capacity, and Hoshi spares one last look at T’pol. She looks small and weak to an extent Hoshi wouldn’t have believed possible. Hoshi wonders what else she might do for her. She’d do anything, anything at all if it could take away the uncertainty of not knowing whether she would be alright.

But the shuttlepod is approaching the gas giant again, and needs a human pilot to help navigate the gravity well, and there is Enterprise, and the docking procedures… and T’pol is as okay as she can be, for the moment.


	18. ashau

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s some Vulcan terms of endearment for y’all:
> 
>  **ashayam** \- Beloved. The word “ashal-veh” used in chapter 8 is a noun, while “ashayam” is a term of address or pet name. Both are derived from “ashau”, to love.  
>  **meskarayam** \- “Held one”. I made this up, with the idea that it's less Serious than other terms.  
>  **t’hai’la** \- sibling, friend, lover. Other half, perhaps. A particular relationship; in this fic it is representative of a specific nature of psychic bond.

“Shuttlepod two to Enterprise, requesting to dock,” Hoshi calls once communications have cleared up.

“Request cleared,” replies Archer. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Our mission was cut short. The local fauna were more aggressive than we anticipated, and T’pol is indisposed. What was the distress call?”

“Apparently our presence tripped a signal on a satellite these colonists left behind. It’s been here for over a thousand years, and eventually ran out of thruster fuel and got caught in the gas giant’s gravity well. It didn’t have anything to tell us, unfortunately. There’ll be a proper briefing later.”

“Okay. I’m in position to begin the docking procedure. Let Dr. Phlox know that Commander T’pol is injured.”

The shuttle shakes as the docking clamps catch it, and Hoshi taps her foot and glances back at T’pol as they are slowly lifted into the shuttle bay.

“T’pol, wake up,” Hoshi says once the hatch closes underneath them. “The sooner we get into decon, the sooner Phlox can look at your shoulder.”

T’pol shudders, but slowly sits herself up. Hoshi sits next to her, arm around T’pol’s waist, prepared to support her again. The sheets are stained green in places, and T’pol’s torn uniform and shirt are hanging off her shoulder, but she is alive.

She’s rested enough to regain a bit of energy, just enough to get her through decon.

In the decon chamber, T’pol lets Hoshi slide her jumpsuit off her shoulders, then her shirt after it. T’pol’s injured arm is cold to the touch, but the fingers twitch when Hoshi touches them.

Hoshi kneels to slide T’pol’s pants off her legs, with a long deep breath, trying not to get distracted by the smooth exposed skin.

“Sensors aren’t showing any particular pathogens,” Phlox’s voice says via intercom, “so you just need decon gel one on all exposed skin and hair, and the irradiation should take care of anything else.”

As she takes off her own uniform, Hoshi asks, “What about T’pol’s shoulder? I disinfected it in the shuttlepod, but…”

“Hmm,” Phlox says, “I see. Has the bleeding stopped?”

“Yes, but not by much.”

“Very well. Use supplemental gel seven on that area. It should be on the third shelf in the cupboard. I’ll look at it more closely once you’re clean.”

Hoshi gathers both their clothes to put in the sanitizer and takes the requisite decon gel containers out of the cupboard. T’pol is able to use her good hand to cover her face and left hand in gel while Hoshi quickly rubs it in her own hands and face and hair.

“I’m gonna put the gel in your hair,” Hoshi says as she steps behind T’pol’s seat on the bench.

“Okay,” T’pol says, and stiffens her back.

“It’s okay. Relax,” Hoshi says, spreading a thin layer of the gel over T’pol’s head, rubbing it in with her fingertips.

T’pol does relax, with a sigh. She seems to melt into Hoshi’s hands as she massages the gel into her hair more leisurely than necessary. Hoshi relishes the simple act of care that she is able to offer when T’pol cannot do it herself.

Hoshi’s hands slip down to apply the gel on and around T’pol’s ears, and T’pol’s breath hitches. Hoshi pulls her hands away, afraid she overstepped, before she realizes that T’pol’s response was definitely not discomfort.

Hoshi takes a few deep breaths, tries to stay in the moment — she’s here for a reason, after all — and returns to rub the gel onto T’pol’s ears, too conscious of how sensitive an area it is for her, then sliding down to her neck, the top of her spine — and all that’s left is her right hand.

T’pol leans forward, head hung, as Hoshi slides onto the bench at her right. Hoshi almost feels drunk off T’pol’s responsiveness. She needs to be certain whether their bond means what she needs it to mean.

It had all seemed so clear, in the shuttlepod, when for a brief moment Hoshi thought she could understand exactly what T’pol would never fully admit to feeling. But now she’s had time to second guess, and her second guesses tend to win out. Maybe she messed up, maybe she’s reading all of this horribly wrong, but she’d really like to believe that something real is passing between them.

“T’pol,” Hoshi whispers, tentatively, quashing her fear, “could I kiss you?”

T’pol turns her head, looks at Hoshi with barely-shielded wonder.

Hoshi opens her mouth to say, _It’s okay, I misunderstood_ , but then T’pol lays her right hand, palm up, on Hoshi’s left thigh.

“You didn’t let me, before,” Hoshi says.

She’d lain awake one night, what seems like ages ago, wondering about the significance of finger-kisses in Vulcan culture, why T’pol didn’t return the gesture when Hoshi first offered it. She assumed at the time that it was meant as rejection — T’pol responded to her human kiss only because the crew would understand what it meant, that Hoshi was publicly claiming her, but the kiss wasn’t theirs at all.

"That was for show,” T’pol says. “Our bond wasn't real. I avoided you once it was, for your protection. The things I would do to you… were unwelcome, to say the least."

Hoshi resists the urge to ask exactly what things T’pol would do to her, to offer that they might have been very welcome. There will be plenty of time for _that_. But this — T’pol is offering her hand to Hoshi, privately, with nothing to prove to anyone. It’s almost too much to be real.

"And now?" Hoshi asks, brushing their fingers together lightly, hovering millimeters away.

T'pol looks into her, eyes burning. "I'm not afraid anymore."

Hoshi threads her fingers through T’pol’s. The other part of the kiss is unseen — the dropping of barriers, opening one’s mind in a show of trust. Bringing thoughts and desires to the surface and letting them swirl in the liminal space between bodies where they are no longer entirely separate individuals, but two halves of an entirely new whole.

Hoshi scoots closer beside her, buries her face in T'pol's good shoulder, uses her other hand to be sure the gel is spread across the back of T’pol’s hand and up her wrist, kisses T’pol’s shoulder to declare her clean. Tears well up against her will, for all that T’pol’s gone through, for gratitude at having her alive, for all the nights she’s wished to hold her just like this.

Before long, the intercom buzzes, and Hoshi helps T’pol off the bench and into sick bay, where Phlox has her lie on a biobed.

“I’m going to need to sedate you so I can repair your shoulder,” Phlox says.

“Hoshi,” T’pol says, pleading.

“What can I do for you, _ashayam?”_

Phlox smirks, but thankfully doesn’t comment as Hoshi presses a kiss to T’pol’s forehead, steady and warm. Reassurance. That’s what T’pol needs.

“I’ll be right here with you, as close as Dr. Phlox lets me. We’ll talk once you’re better,” Hoshi says.

“Okay,” T’pol says, jaw tense, still staring into Hoshi’s eyes.

Phlox presses a hypospray to T’pol’s neck, and her eyes flutter closed.

* * *

Coming out of anesthesia is like waking up from sleep, but with the vulnerability stretched over a long period. It is thoroughly unpleasant. T’pol would prefer to feign unconsciousness until she is fully herself, but she hears Phlox calling her name, trying to get a response.

“Her brain wave patterns say she’s awake; I don’t know why she’s not responding,” he finally says, and she is frustrated enough by that to open her eyes.

“Ah, T’pol! I’m glad you’re finally awake. I reattached the muscles and nerves in your shoulder, and there should be no lasting damage.”

“Thank you,” T’pol says, though her throat feels like the fire plains of Vulcan.

“If you don’t mind, could I ask you a few questions?” Phlox says, as if it is not plain as day that T’pol wishes to rest undisturbed.

“I do mind. Is it possible to ask them later?”

“There’s no rush, I suppose. Can you at least let me know if you have any pain, difficulty breathing, or otherwise feel unusual?”

“I’m tired,” T’pol says, “and my shoulder is sore. That is _all._ ”

Phlox hums and taps a few buttons on her patient monitor.

“Would you like to sit up?”

“Yes.”

Phlox taps a button on the bed with his foot, and it tilts up so T’pol is half sitting. Then he turns away and starts putting away equipment from the surgery.

“Hey,” says Hoshi’s voice on T’pol’s other side. She lets her head roll to the side and sees Hoshi, glowing and beautiful and still _here,_ exactly like she promised she would be.

T’pol reaches out a hand to her, and Hoshi takes it.

 _I’m so glad you’re okay_ , Hoshi tells her. _I knew things would be okay, but it’s good to see you awake again_.

 _I’m relieved that you stayed_ , T’pol says.

Hoshi is incredulous. _Do you even know what you mean to me?_

T’pol doesn’t respond. She can’t justify the hubris of saying _yes_ , but neither can she bear to ask Hoshi to elaborate. It is enough, for now, that she is here. They are linked, so Hoshi will surely understand, as easily as breathing.

“Do you want to know what I found out about the planet?” Hoshi asks, out loud.

“Tell me,” T’pol says. _I’ll share my own discoveries later._

Hoshi reaches onto the table behind her, and hands a book to T’pol. She doesn’t recognize any of the words in the title.

“I took this book from the library, since it seemed to be a sort of retrospective history of the colonists. I’m lucky it fit in my pocket, or I might have dropped and forgotten it.” Hoshi laughs at herself, and it’s possibly the most beautiful sound T’pol has ever heard.

“It was a bit of a challenge to translate it,” Hoshi continues. “Their language has a lot in common with Golic and Lowlands Vulcan, but it’s evolved a surprising amount. This book is called the Reputation of Kofak, who led the movement that this particular group of Vulcans belonged to. He believed in something he called ‘conscious compassion’ — a system of meditation and affirmation to constantly remind oneself to be kind. The most common affirmation was approximately ‘our first responsibility—’”

“‘—is to each other’,” T’pol finishes the sentence for her. 

“You heard that?”

“I heard it mentioned.”

“You said you’ll tell me later, and now I really have to hold you to that,” Hoshi says, winking. T’pol isn’t entirely sure why that pointless gesture makes her heart clench, but it is enough to know that Hoshi is doing it for her.

“Go on,” T’pol says.

“Wait a minute,” Phlox interrupts, hovering next to the bed with a cup in hand. “T’pol, I got you some water. Your throat sounds awful. Also, I asked Chef to make some _plomeek_ soup.”

T’pol takes a long drink of water and looks up at Phlox. “Tell me your other questions now.”

“Well, I mostly just wanted to check how you’re feeling.”

“My shoulder is sore, and I don’t want to move it, but I’m not in pain.”

“I’ll want you to see me for physical therapy daily for the next week, starting tonight.”

“Is there anything else?”

“I’d like to monitor you for another hour before I check you out, and you’ll have to sleep on your right side for the next four days. Let me know immediately if you feel any pain or discomfort, and you should be all right.”

T’pol tilts her head at him in acknowledgement, and he turns and walks to his desk.

“Hoshi,” T’pol says, savoring the way it feels to say her name, the way it feels to be with her without hiding how she feels. “Tell me about Kofak’s followers.”

“Well, the rest of the story is the same as you predicted on the trip down. His people were labeled a cult by the followers of Surak, and exiled for being disruptive to society. They ended up on this world, and started running into issues with their philosophy. Some city-states went to war with each other, and others became corrupt. Their theory of conscious compassion didn’t seem to get them very far. I’m not sure how that works out with the cooperation we noted on the surface.”

“T’pidek,” T’pol says.

“What?”

“I found the scientific journal of a woman named Nova T’pidek. She mentioned Kofak’s philosophies, though I didn’t realize what they were at the time. It seems she was part of a people’s revolution, in response to the leadership rationing food and choosing who could live or die.”

“Huh.”

“She also released Vulcan plants into the wild, that eventually became invasive and counteracted the events of global warming.”

“But she was too late to save her people.”

“She was willing to take the risk,” T’pol says, and she hopes Hoshi understands she isn’t just talking about T’pidek anymore.

“The risk…?”

“That even doing her best with good intentions, she might cause harm.” T’pol stares into Hoshi’s eyes, begs her to accept it without outright telling her.

“Who would you harm, _ashayam?”_

"I am not soft or gentle, _meskarayam_. The way I feel about you is not tender."

"Oh?"

A slow, mischievous grin spreads over Hoshi’s face.

“Dr. Phlox,” Hoshi calls, “could you give us some privacy?”

“I… suppose I could take my lunch break early. Ensign, if any monitors start beeping, you are to page me _immediately_.”

“Can do,” Hoshi says, a playful lilt in her voice.

“And no excitement in my sickbay. You’ll be free to go home in less than an hour.”

“We weren’t planning to do anything but talk,” Hoshi says.

“Good.” Phlox hums to himself as he puts a couple of things away and leaves the room.

It is quiet for a moment, the two women looking into each other’s eyes.

Hoshi leans in then, fingers feathering against the side of T’pol’s neck, lips parted slightly, until her breath tickles T’pol’s face. T’pol finds herself leaning forward, touching her lips to Hoshi’s, thrilling over the jolt of connection, falling into the overwhelming immediacy of the present.

Hoshi leans in further, pressing T’pol’s head back against the pillow with the force of her lips. _Want you, want you,_ Hoshi may as well be screaming, and T’pol briefly lets the force of Hoshi’s desire draw her under. She parts her lips, letting Hoshi taste the inside of her mouth — a strange gesture, but it excites Hoshi so much that T’pol can make no complaint. Her hand searches for Hoshi’s, and her fingers tremble as she brushes them tenderly against Hoshi’s — restrained only because it is a beginning, heat promising the slow build to an explosive release.

Then Hoshi’s knee makes its way onto the bed at T’pol’s hip, and the mattress shifts, and T’pol is drawn back to reality, and turns her head away.

“Dr. Phlox said no excitement while he’s gone,” T’pol gasps.

Undeterred, Hoshi moves down to kiss T’pol’s neck, and it is all T’pol can manage not to pull Hoshi the rest of the way on top of her right there.

“Later,” T’pol says, “there will be time for such things.”

Hoshi grumbles, but draws away. T’pol finds she greatly enjoys how Hoshi looks, cheeks and lips flushed, chest heaving, head tilting back as she sits down in her chair. She enjoys it more knowing that their time isn’t over, that she’ll be able to enjoy the rest of what they started before long.

After a minute passes, and some of the tension in the air releases, T’pol shifts herself to sit up fully.

“Tell me more about this bond we share,” Hoshi says, slowly entwining their fingers.

"I want to explain it," T'pol says. "But I can't. You could not possibly understand."

"Tell me anyway," Hoshi says. "I like to think I'm pretty good at figuring it out."

T'pol sighs.

"Please? Worst case, I still end up knowing more than I do now."

So T’pol tells her, to the best of her ability. She explains the telepathy — a word which Hoshi suggests — and the undeterred focus on a single person, which might soften with age but which never fades, the ferocious violence of desire, the psychological dependence that ties two minds together, never to be whole without the other as long as they last.

And Hoshi, for all her talk of understanding, just smiles and says, “okay,” _flippantly_.

"Can't you see the horror of my predicament?” T’pol pleads. “I need you, I crave you, and that goes against every principle of your people. You are a sovereign person; you do not deserve a bond that would tie your fate to mine."

"Can’t these bonds be broken, if they become dangerous?"

"It is an invasive procedure."

"But it can be done?"

"Yes."

"Then I would gladly be bonded to you."

"You don't understand what you're saying. Have I not made it clear to you what this bond entails?"

"You did, actually." Hoshi picks up T'pol's hand and traces the edge of a fingernail down each of her fingers as she lists off its aspects. "Sharing each other's sadness and joy. Knowing where you are. Being together, even when we are apart. I don't see any downsides."

“Humans value individuality above all else. You do not know how to control your thoughts as I do. As long as our bond is intact, you will never be entirely your own. It is a great injustice, and affront to your privacy.”

“But it’s my choice to make, and I choose to trust you,” Hoshi says. “You asked me not to touch you, for my own safety. I didn’t get it at the time; I just assumed it was something about your people’s supposed violent nature. But there’s more to it than that.”

“Is there?” T’pol asks, doubtful and sarcastic, but Hoshi senses the amusement underneath, feels it tickling her fingertips where they touch.

"I understand now," Hoshi whispers, and tilts her head down, barely touching her lips to the back of T’pol’s hand. "I would share all that I am with you willingly. _T'hai'la_."

T’pol considers correcting her usage, but lets it slide as flattery. Hoshi’s understanding of the word surely covers much of its meaning — something rare and beautiful, the allegiance of souls on a level deeper than philosophy. What is not written in any dictionary, however, is the other depth of connection, of unbreakable understanding that the term describes. It is a type of bond that only grows with time, and it will be years before they can tell if it is the right word for what passes between them.

Their relationship is such a young thing that its eventual form is yet impossible to clearly define, but T’pol is reluctantly optimistic, and Hoshi’s hand is warm in hers. As long as they continue to listen and learn from each other, the possibilities are infinite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never made it to the end of a project of this scale! Thank you so much to everyone who’s followed along. I have ideas for spinoff ficlets, and I’ll definitely write more Hoshi/T’pol down the line, but this burnt me out for the moment.
> 
> My next big fic project (hello quarantine!) is about TNG — Deanna Troi goes undercover as a Romulan, and the Tasha Yar from Yesterday’s Enterprise survived and joined Spock’s Underground. They meet on Romulus and remember that they loved and lost each other, years ago. But Troi still has her spy mission, and they're being hunted — by Tasha’s daughter.

**Author's Note:**

> Any and all comments are welcome and cherished, including but not limited to: favorite lines, personal anecdotes, constructive criticism, suggestions for warning tags I missed, [songs that seem relevant to the story](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0Lk50u0JexB5kJnsMP43Ia), cursing me for ruining your life, and "AAAAAAA".
> 
> Also! I've been on a "hand making books of fanfiction" kick, so if anyone wants the files to print this [here you go](https://www.dropbox.com/sh/yi7p9y6748387mp/AABVodk2KWLxduPsa7zEWIjha?dl=0). I'll make a tutorial at some point, and if you have an idea for the cover do let me know.


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